Marie Belloc Lowndes

“ Then she turned, with a look of apology, to Lily.
“The dining-room is already prepared for dinner,” she said, in her soft, refined voice. “I fear I must ask you. Mademoiselle, to eat your egg here.”
“Of course I will,” exclaimed Lily. “And, Cristina, I hope you will allow me to help you a little in the housework?”
A curious look—was it of surprise or gratitude?—perhaps something of both—quivered for a moment over Cristina's pale face. “You are very good,” she said quietly. “There is a good deal of work sometimes—when we have visitors.” ”

“ She turned to Lily. “And you, dear child? Have you had a nice fresh egg?”
Without waiting for an answer she turned and left the little dark kitchen.
Cristina waited, listening, and then, when she heard the front door, at the end of the corridor, close to: “Are you really her relation?” she asked slowly. “You are not at all like her.”
“No: I'm not really related to the Countess.” Had she been more at home in French she would have tried to explain the peculiar connection. Meanwhile a pleased look came over old Cristina's face. “I thought not!” she exclaimed. ”

“ Lily nodded.
“Thus we do not really regard her as a servant,” went on the Countess. “We are both very fond of her. She is an excellent creature, but she is not very amiable. I had to tell her that you were coming as a paying guest”—the Countess made a slight grimace. “Cristina is an old woman, and I hope you will not be offended with me when I say that I shall be glad if you will help a little in the work of the house.” ”