“I'm sorry,” she began hesitatingly, “I never—I can't”—then she swallowed hard in her desperate plight. “Isn't it pretty?” she said rather breathlessly.
“It's very good,” returned the housekeeper briefly, misconstruing the child's hesitation. “Shall I help you?”
“I—could I have a drink of milk? I don't—I don't eat eggs.”
“Don't eat eggs?” repeated the housekeeper severely. “I'm sorry you have been allowed to be notional. Children should eat what is set before them. Taste of it.”
“I—I couldn't, please.” Jewel's face was averted.
Mrs. Forbes touched an electric bell. The maid reappeared. “Remove the omelet, Sarah, and bring Miss Julia a glass of milk.”
That was the order, but oh, the tone of it! Jewel's heart beat a little faster as she took some bread and butter and drank the milk, Mrs. Forbes standing by, a portentous, solemn, black-robed figure, awful in its silence.
When the child set down the glass empty, she started to push back her chair.
“Wait,” said Mrs. Forbes laconically. She again touched an electric bell. The maid reappeared, removed the bread and milk and served a dainty dessert of preserved peaches, cream, and cake.
“I've really had enough,” said Jewel politely.