“Esther?” said Meg, pausing with uplifted tablespoon, and taking no notice of Nell’s sarcasm beyond blushing finely. “You’ll try a little, won’t you? I’m sure it’s very nice.”
But even Esther looked dubious; the frothed icing on top had an elegant appearance certainly, but underneath was a mass of strange colour and consistency.
“Dear Meg,” she said, “I am like the French lady, you know,—I eat only my acquaintances. Nellie, pass me the cheese.”
But this sort of thing did not damp Meg’s spirits, not at least for more than a day or two.
Perhaps the next three or four puddings would be long-established favourites that no one could take exception to, but after that there would appear one or two of French title and unknown quantities. Now and again indeed they turned out brilliant successes, that every one praised and longed for more of; but most often, it must be confessed, they were failures, very trying to the tempers and digestions of all who ventured on a helping.
“It was well to be Alan,” Nellie said, “with nine [159] ]innocent people submitting themselves daily to the dangers of poisoning or lifelong indigestion, just that in future he might escape and have his palate continually pleased.”
“If I can’t practise on my own family,” demanded Meg, smiling however, “how am I to get experience? All of you have excellent digestions, so it will not do you any real harm.”
And she persevered with so much determination that they only groaned inwardly when a “confection à la Marguerite,” as Nellie called it, took the place of old favourites, such as plum puddings, apple pies, roly-polys and Queens. Every one accepted their portion in meekness, and really tried to say encouraging things, especially if her face was hot and anxious.
Bunty was just beginning to find his place in the family again. But he was a changed boy. No one could doubt that those five hard months had had the most beneficial effect on his character, although they had made him so white and hollow-cheeked. He was stronger morally, more self-reliant. The rough usage he had received seemed to have quite dissipated his cowardice, and with it the inclination to falsehood. He was almost pitifully careful not to make the slightest untrue statement about anything; and now the barriers of reserve between himself and [160] ]Meg were broken down, she was able to help him more, and put herself more in his place.
Poppet was as much as ever his faithful little companion; there was absolutely nothing the child would not have done for this dear, recovered brother. She even consulted Meg as to the practicability of learning Latin, just that she might look up his words for him every evening in the dictionary.