“When one is hungry one seldom looks agreeable,” said Miss Charlotte. “I wish I had noticed him before,” and she remembered, with a little pang of remorse, that she had more than once preached to him about his soul, while all the time she had been too dreamy and unobservant to see what was really wrong with him.
“Suppose,” she said timidly, “suppose I were to take him a little of the stewed American beef we shall have for supper.”
“Send it up by the girl,” said Miss Turnour, “she is still in the kitchen. Don’t take it yourself—it would be awkward for both of you.”
So Miss Charlotte meekly obeyed, and sent up by the shabby servant-girl a most savory little supper. Unluckily the girl was a pert cockney, and her loud, abrupt knock at the door in itself irritated Frithiof.
“Come in,” he said, in a surly tone.
“Look here,” said the girl, “here’s something to put you in a better temper. Missus’s compliments, and she begs you’ll accept it,” and she thrust the tray at him with a derisive grin.
“Have the goodness to take that down again,” said Frithiof, in a fit of unreasoning anger. “I’ll not be treated like your mistress’ pet dog.”
Something in his manner cowed the girl. She beat a hasty retreat, and was planning how she could manage to eat the despised supper herself, when at the foot of the stairs she met Miss Charlotte, and her project was nipped in the bud.
“It aint no use, miss, ’e wont touch it,” she explained; “’e was as angry as could be, and says ’e, ‘Take it away. I’ll not be treated like your mistress’ pet dog,’ says ’e. So, bein’ frightened, I ran downstairs agen.”
Miss Charlotte looked troubled, and later on, when as usual she took up the jug of hot water, she felt nervous and uncomfortable, and her knock was more timid than ever. However, she had scarcely set down the jug on the floor when there came sounds of hasty footsteps in the room, and Frithiof flung open the door.