“ ... Yesterday, sir.”
“Let me see the box!”
His face became alarming.
“Dorothy!” he said. “I don’t believe it. I don’t believe these are Murray’s eggs!”
He leaned across the table and sniffed at the dish.
“No!” he shouted. “They are not! I know it!”
He flung down his napkin and pushed back his chair. He had for a few weeks past been importing eggs for his special use from a fellow he knew in the country, and he knew that he was being duped, that these immoral women, Miss Dorothy and Delia, used his eggs for other purposes, for the household, for puddings, perhaps even ate them themselves. His appetite was extremely delicate at breakfast, no one could quite comprehend how he felt, especially the morning after a banquet. Suddenly his anger turned into a frightful gloom.
“Take them away!” he said, with a sigh. “Take the damned things away and never bring me eggs again. Never!... Good Lord! I can’t trust anyone!”
Miss Dorothy flushed, and smiled nervously.