Mistress of the House by Eleanor Farnes

the kitchen had been turned low while Laurie was upstairs, and she had not bothered to turn it higher. She was standing before the fire, and the deep apricot color of her dress was turned to flame by the light lent it by the fire. Max stood at the door, transfixed, until she turned and smiled at him. Then he closed the door behind him and limped across the room to her side, looking down at her.
    He took a deep breath, was about to speak to her and then restrained himself. Laurie smiled up at him.
    “What a nuisance I am,” she said, “giving you another journey.”
    “You look like another girl,” he said.
    “Do I? But I’m just the same, I assure you.”
    “You don’t belong in a farm kitchen, Laurie Giles.” She looked at him. There was more in the few words than at first appeared, but she did not know what it was. She smiled a little.
    “Don’t be misled by one pretty frock, Mr. Lorney,” she said, her voice teasing. “I expect I shall end up in somebody’s kitchen—and probably not half such a nice one as this.”
    “Do you call this a nice kitchen?”
    “I call it a lovely one.”
    “What is the Laurie short for?” he asked her.
    “Laura. But I always use Laurie. I was intended, like so many poor little girls, to be a boy, and his name was to be Laurence. Laura was the next best thing.”
    “Laurie suits you. I’d like to call you Laurie, if I may.”
    “Why, of course. I’d like it very much. Miss Giles is so formal. Several times I’ve been on the point of asking your mother to call me Laurie.”
    “Well, Laurie, are you ready? I’m feeling sorry already for all the village girls.”
    “Why?”
    “You’re going to outshine them, I’m afraid.”
    “But they aren’t all village girls. What about Diana Humphries?”
    “Diana will need some outshining, true. Diana is always coolly lovely. I think you’ll like Diana.”
    Laurie, slipping on her short fur jacket, snuggling her bare shoulders into its warmth, was not so sure.
    The car climbed the length of the lane once more and turned on to the road. Max was silent Laurie, a little excited, looking forward to the evening’s pleasure, became aware of his silence. I wonder, she thought, whether Max danced before his accident? It isn’t a thing I can ask him now. He probably did. I wonder how he feels now to be driving us backwards and forwards, as if he were our chauffeur, and to be left out of it all. Poor Max. He would go back to the farm and sit by the kitchen fire, reading his paper, smoking his pipe, until it was time to come and fetch them, but who knew what he was really thinking and feeling? He was not talkative at any time, but never since Laurie had been at the farm had he referred to his lameness by word or sign. He was so handsome, so pleasant and attractive that it was a safe bet that he was a great success at the village dances at one time. She could imagine the fluttering of hearts among the maidens there. And now his part was to sit at home and wait.
    Suddenly, on impulse, she said: “Mr. Lorney.”
    “Max,” he said.
    “Max, I’ve decided that I don’t want to go to the dance. I think I’d much rather go back and have some music.”
    “Oh, no, you don’t” he said, a little grimly, driving straight ahead.
    “I should, really.”
    “My dear Laurie, don’t insult my intelligence.”
    “Oh, please don’t take it like that I would like to go back.”
    “You know that you’re quite excited at the prospect of the dance; that you’re interested to see what the village dances are like; and what the people are like. And you think I shall believe you when you say you want to turn your back on it.”
    “Well, I want to do both; but I would like to go back more.”
    “Laurie, it’s very kind of you; I appreciate it. Now don’t say any more about it.”
    “Max.”
    “Yes?”
    “Stop the car.”
    Obligingly, he drew it to the side of the road and stopped it Then he looked towards her enquiringly in the