And
she came into the little dining-room where the youthful servant was
poking up the fire.
"Jane," she said, "put two medium-sized potatoes in the oven to bake."
"Potatoes, mum?"
"Yes, potatoes," said Mrs Swann, tartly.
It was an idea of pure genius that had suddenly struck her; the genius
of common sense.
She somewhat hurried the tea; then rang.
"Jane," she inquired, "are those potatoes ready?"
"Potatoes?" exclaimed Mr Swann.
"Yes, hot potatoes," said Mrs Swann, tartly. "I'm going to run up with
them by car to Mrs Vernon's. I can slip them quietly over to Gil. They
keep your hands warm better than anything. Don't I remember when I was a
child! I shall leave Mrs Vernon's immediately, of course, but perhaps
you'd better give me my ticket and I will meet you at the hall. Don't
you think it's the best plan, John?"
"As you like," said Mr Swann, with the force of habit.
He was supreme in most things, but in the practical details of their
son's life and comfort she was supreme. Her decision in such matters had
never been questioned. Mr Swann had a profound belief in his wife as a
uniquely capable and energetic woman.
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