She had acquired
no veneer of any kind, and looked, as she stood with her plump hands
folded contentedly on her apron-band, much less a lady than Mrs.
Champion, the housekeeper at Kingsmead.
But one fault Brigit had not: she was no snob, and the least worthy
thought roused in her as she contemplated her kindly hostess was that
her mother would be very much annoyed when she met her daughter's future
mother-in-law.
"Such delicious coffee," she said presently, "_and_ the rolls!"
"_Oui, oui, pas mal; c'est moi qui les ai faits._ I make myself----"
As she spoke there came a loud rap at the door, and Joyselle put in his
head, crowned with a gold-tasselled red-velvet cap of archaic shape.
"You permit, _ma fille_?" Without awaiting an answer he came in,
gorgeous from top to toe in a crimson garment between a dressing-gown
and a smoking-costume, girdled round his waist with a gold cord.
"She eats, the most beautiful!" he cried joyously, "and _petite mere_
and Yellow Dog look on! Is it not wonderful, _ma vieille_?"
Madame Joyselle smiled--sensibly. "It is delightful, my man, delightful.
But I fear you should not have come in--she may not like it."
"Not like it? Of course she does.
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