"Good Lord! Why not?"
She looked at me nervously, as though I ought to know all about it; as if I were asking these questions solely in order to put her to the pain of telling me.
"Do you mean to say," I repeated, "that you haven't had one morsel of food to-day?"
When she shook her head two or three times, I went straight to the door and called for Mrs. Bullwell.
"What's it to be?" I asked. "Don't say a chop because it's the first thing that comes into your head. Will you have some eggs or—?"
"A chop," said she.
I persuaded Mrs. Bullwell to promise it in ten minutes.
"And open a bottle of that claret," said I, as she departed. "We sha'n't want any tea now. Well—I'll have some, but you can get it afterwards."
Then I closed the door and came back to Clarissa.
"What does all this mean?" said I. I know I tried to speak as a father speaks to his child. I tried to forget how I cared for her. It is not to the man who is hopelessly wasting his heart on her that a woman gives her confidence. "Something has happened to you," I added. "What is it?"