"I thought you might want me, Gran."
This was the truth, but Mrs. Berryman did not look as though she believed it. "I don't want you," she said ungraciously; "you can have your dinner and go again. I'm better and shall get up. I'm expecting some one here this afternoon to see me on business. Here, get your dinner!"
She produced her keys from under her pillow as she spoke. Her granddaughter took them, but did not move.
"Get your dinner!" Mrs. Berryman repeated sharply; "do you hear?"
"Yes, I hear," Melina answered, the expression of her countenance mutinous and sullen; "but I'm tired of cold bacon, and—"
"Tired of cold bacon! Oh, indeed! Well, you won't have anything else!"
"Give me a penny to buy a bun, Gran—do."
"What next? I shall do nothing of the kind. If you're not content with what's in the house, you can go without."
"Then I'll go without!" the child declared passionately, and, flinging the keys on the bed, she turned away and left the room.
She kept her word, and, hungry though she was, went dinnerless to school that afternoon. On her way home after four o'clock she was standing looking longingly into the window of a confectioner's shop when some one touched her on the arm, and, turning around, she saw William Jones.