"Please, father. I'm ravenously hungry. It cuts as if it were tender, doesn't it?" hazarded Dorothea. "Your knife seems to go so easily."
"Tender! It's cooked to rags. All the goodness gone out of it," groaned the unhappy Colonel.
Dorothea judiciously kept silence for a minute or two. The Colonel passed her some delicate slices, helped himself abundantly, and began to eat.
"Father, do you know a Mrs. Effingham?"
"No—" in a preoccupied tone.
"She says she is coming to see me."
At any other time the Colonel would have taken fright. He really was too much absorbed just now with his dinner miseries to understand aught else.
"She is the dearest little old lady, with such a kind smile." A pause. "Father, this is a delicious turkey; and such nice stuffing."
"The turkey would be well enough—properly cooked. No goodness left in it now," said the Colonel. "What made you so late? The service ought to have been over an hour before."
"I stayed to Holy Communion," said Dorothea gently.