At all events I was convinced that after the failure I had made of the day’s work, they would not call me in for supper that evening. Indeed, I would fain have gone to rest without that unearned repast. It didn’t matter what I did or what they said, I told myself, they were only Germans, and I wasn’t hungry anyhow. With this intent I was walking shamefacedly through the kitchen to my cell when Erna swept in.
“Where are you going?” she demanded, seizing me by the collar. “Supper!” she roared, as she pulled me into the dining room.
The family had already eaten, so I was left to eat with my tormentor. The table was spread for the first time with a white table-cloth, for they had evidently had guests. She sat down directly opposite me, and only once was the silence broken.
“Don’t soil the table-cloth,” she commanded, pointing threateningly with her fork.
It stirred my blood a bit to think of this creature lecturing me on table-manners.
“I’ve eaten off more white table-cloths than you,” I retorted bravely, fumbling at my fork in defence.
She took this sally with contemptuous silence, which continued, with dark and threatening glances until we finished supper. She finished first. There was a dreadful pause, then she got up and sat down beside me!
I watched her with suspicious alarm. I moved a few inches along the bench and fumbled again at my fork. Then it came—all of a sudden. She threw her arms around me and kissed me!
“You poor little English fool!” she said.