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Later on we made our way to the polo-ground.
Almost the first person we saw was Katharine Festival.
"Hurray," said Daphne. "I meant to have rung her up last night, but what with the Camille episode and dining out I forgot all about it. When I tell her we're suited, she'll be green with envy."
Her unsuspecting victim advanced beaming. Being of the opposite sex, I felt sorry for her.
"Daphne, my dear," she announced, "I meant to have rung you up last night. I've got a cook."
The pendulum of my emotions described the best part of a semicircle, and I felt sorry for Daphne.
"I am glad," said my sister, with an audacity which took my breath away. "How splendid! So've we."
"Hurray," said Katharine, with a sincerity which would have deceived a diplomat. "Don't you feel quite strange? I can hardly believe it's really happened. Mine rejoices in the name of Pauline," she added.
I started violently, and Berry's jaw dropped.
"Pauline?" cried Daphne and Jill.
"Yes," said Katharine. "It's a queer name for a cook, but----What's the matter?"
"But so's ours! Ours is Pauline! What's her other name?"
"Roper," cried Katharine breathlessly.
"Not from Torquay?"--in a choking voice.
Katharine nodded and put a trembling handkerchief to her lips.
"I paid her fare," she said faintly. "It came to----"
"Two pounds nine and four pence halfpenny," said my sister. "I gave her two pounds ten."
"So did I," said Katharine. "She was to come on--on Monday."
"Six years in her last place?" said Daphne shakily
"Yes. And a clergyman's daughter," wailed Katharine.
"Did--did you take up her reference?"
"Wired last night," was the reply.
In silence I brought two chairs, and they sat down.
"But--but," stammered Jill, "she spoke from Torquay on Wednesday."
"Did she?" said Berry. "I wonder."
"Yes," said Katharine. "She did."
"You know she d