He hesitated and looked at Miss Perkins, who began to toy with a salt-spoon.
"Of course," said Mrs. Carey, accepting the situation graciously, though a little uneasily. "If Mr. Parrott wouldn't mind, I'm sure I—— It does seem a pity to have the dinner wasted."
"It would be a sin," said George.
He looked at his watch and began to brush his hat, and perform those little preparations that preface departure, maintaining in the mean time an indifference likely to settle quickly the doubts of Mrs. Carey.
"I'll bring it up," said the landlady, suddenly opening the door. "Don't go till you've had a bit of dinner, sir. I'll explain it to Mr. Parrott."
Mrs. Carey bustled downstairs, and George and Miss Perkins prepared themselves for a pleasant evening.
The dinner was an immense success. The only thing that saved it from disaster was the horror that Parrott had of bringing ridicule upon himself. But for this the irate prisoner would have burst the door of his prison-house and brought confusion on the diners.
George filled Miss Perkins' glass and his own to the brim. He had discovered a full bottle of claret in the cupboard, and brought it out in honour of the lady. Together they emptied the bottle, and enjoyed it; the lamb chops disappeared, and Mrs. Carey's puddings followed them, and throughout the evening they seasoned each course with a natural good humour.
George was in the best of spirits. He praised the cooking, compared the sparkling wine to Miss Perkins' eyes, and attacked the food with a relish that only comes to a man when he is feasting at another man's expense.
"You may smoke," said Miss Perkins, graciously, settling herself in an armchair.