“Cousins and connections are the same thing. Who cares a straw what we are? And what’s the good of bothering?”
“I’m nearly mad with hunger,” groaned Captain Waring. “I’ve eaten nothing for ten hours but one hard-boiled egg.”
“Smoke, as the Indians do,” suggested his comrade unfeelingly, “or draw in your belt a couple of holes. Anyway, a little starvation will do you no harm—you are getting fat.”
“I wonder, if I went and sat upon the steps with a placard round my neck, on which was written, ‘I am starving,’ if this good lady would give us a dinner? Hunger is bad enough, but the exquisite smell of her roast mutton aggravates my pangs.”
“You have only to show yourself, and she will invite you.”
“How do you know, and why do you cruelly raise my hopes?”
“Because I hear that she is the soul of hospitality, and that she has the best cook on the hills.”
“May I ask how you discovered this really valuable piece of information?”
“From the harum-scarum youth who passed this afternoon. He forgot to mention her name.”
“Here she comes along by the weir,” interrupted Waring. “Mark the excitement among the servants—her meal will be ready to the minute. She must be truly a great woman, and has already earned my respect. If she asks me to dinner, I shall love her. What do you say, Mark?”