“It’s ready laid.”
“What are you in such a hurry for? Miss M. and Mr. Williams haven’t turned up yet.”
“Mr. Roberts wants his supper early, I know.”
“You’ve no business to know, then. Well, put the ham on the table and the cold sweets, and he can go in when he pleases. This is Liberty Hall, as I call it.”
Elsie carried in the ham, placing the dish on the table beside the carving-knife and fork that were raised upon a “rest” of electro plate. The glass dishes containing a flabby pink decoction of cornflour, and the apple tart, with several slices of pastry gone from the crust, she laid at the other end of the table.
“Supper’s in, Mr. Roberts,” she cried through the open door of the drawing-room, but this time she did not go in, and flew back to the kitchen before Mr. Roberts appeared.
“Geraldine’s asking for tea, mother.”
“There’s a kettle on. She can come and fetch it.”
“I’ll take it up,” Elsie volunteered.
“You’re very obliging, all of a sudden. I’m sure I only wish you and your sister were more like sisters, the way Aunt Ada and Aunt Gertie and Mother were. There wasn’t any of this bickering between us girls that I hear between you and Geraldine.”