They were the last thing I studied." Bertram laughed again, uproariously; but, at Billy's unchangingly tragic face, he grew suddenly very grave and tender.
"Billy, dear, I didn't marry you to--to get a cook," he said gently.
Billy shook her head.
"I know; but Aunt Hannah said that even if I never expected to cook, myself, I ought to know how it was done, so to properly oversee it.

She said that--that no woman, who didn't know how to cook and keep house properly, had any business to be a wife.

And, Bertram, I did try, honestly, all this week.

I tried so hard to remember when you sponged bread and when you kneaded it." "I don't ever need--_yours_," cut in Bertram, shamelessly; but he got only a deservedly stern glance in return.
"And I repeated over and over again how many cupfuls of flour and pinches of salt and spoonfuls of baking-powder went into things; but, Bertram, I simply could not keep my mind on it.

Everything, everywhere was singing to me.