The Bishop stood in the tiny kitchen facing the diminutive Polly.
"Your mistress isn't feeling well," he said, "and I want to know what there is in the house that she would fancy. She must have something. Have you any soup or bovril?"
Polly overwhelmed with the importance of the occasion turned red. That she had never seen bovril or knew what it was the Bishop discovered before she had answered, "That there ain't no such stuff anywheres in the house, Sir. We don't eat bovril and there ain't no soup," she added.
The Bishop smiled.
"Well, what are you going to have for dinner?" he asked.
"Master, he is to have a chop," said Polly, "and Mistress she say she'll have some bread and cheese to-day."
"And what are you going to have?"
Polly flushed crimson and hung her head.
"Mistress, she say that I'm to have the leg of the chicken that Mrs. Stone brought us two days ago. There's just one leg left and the Mistress won't take it herself. It ain't right that I should be eating chicken while she eats cheese."
The Bishop loved little Polly on the spot. He was thankful that there was anyhow one person in the house who thought of Rachel. What had Greville been about to let his wife get into such a weak state.