I suddenly remembered his surprise at my empty porridge-dish, realizing that here he imagined he had discovered the first starvation symptoms of an unrequited passion. That was more than I could stand.
"Oh—I'll come and eat with you," said I. "There's nothing the matter with my appetite. Getting up early has given me a headache—that's all."
So we went in to lunch together, when Bellwattle was quite wonderful. No longer did she treat me to her sympathy. Instead, we heard from her some of those wild schemes and fancies which take possession of her mind, I suppose, in such moments as when she gazes into far distances, or in the strange hours of her day when she is alone and talks in animated conversation with herself.
It chanced that Cruikshank spoke of the number of rats in the farmyard over the way.
"They eat everything," said he.
"The creatures!" she exclaimed.
"That's all very well," said Cruikshank, "but when it comes to a whole field of corn being ruined—that's what'll happen this summer if they're not put down."
"But surely you can stop them?"
"How?" said I.
"Keep the things covered up."