The refusal, with its attendant tag of explanatory ingratitude, was received in matter-of-fact silence by every one.
Miss Vivian's hatred of a fuss, as interpreted by her secretary, merely redounded to her credit in the eyes of the Hostel.
They ate indifferent pressed beef and tepid milk-pudding, and those who could afford it—for the most part accompanied by those who could not afford it—supplemented the meal with coffee and cakes devoured in haste at the High Street confectioner's, and then hurried back to the office.
It was nearly three o'clock before Miss Delmege ventured to address her chief.
"I'm afraid you haven't had lunch. Do let me send for something."
Miss Vivian looked up, flushed and tired.
"Dear me, yes. It's much later than I thought. Send out one of the Scouts for a couple of buns and a piece of chocolate."
"Oh!" protested Miss Delmege, as she invariably did on receipt of this menu.
Char Vivian did not raise her eyes from the letter she was rapidly inditing, and her secretary retreated to give the order.
Miss Plumtree, counting on her fingers and looking acutely distressed, sat at a small table in the hall from whence the Scout was dispatched.