There was a knock at the door.
"Enter the Slave of the Lamp," said I, and the door opened to admit—my landlady, Mrs. Mulvaney.
"Will you be dining in?" she said. Her Irish accent hardly helped the illusion of the all-potent slave.
"And why not?" I asked.
"Ach, nothing, sor. I only thought——"
"An unwomanly thing to do, Mrs. Mulvaney."
"You're afther being a strange one, dining alone on Christmas Eve."
"Then join me, Mrs. Mulvaney."
I swear she blushed, and I felt more than a little envious of the nature which could convert such a vinegary attempt at condescension into a gallantry.
"F'what would I be doing, taking dinner wid a child like you?"