"As if I was a miser," she complained, "instead of one whose whole thought is for my fellow creatures."
"At other people's expense—quite so," said Barton. He really was a disagreeable old creature. "Come, Julia, tell me the truth. Why are you giving this dinner?"
"I'm afraid Miss Crane is dull, and I thought it would liven her up a little."
"Oh, that's it, is it?" said Barton, not believing her in the least. "Then you and she and Miss Marsh had better come to dinner at the Manor House. There is nothing for Miss Crane or anyone else to enjoy in being poisoned by your cook."
Mrs. Darrow calculated that she could gain her end—whatever it was—just as well at Uncle Barton's expense as at her own. But although she accepted with avidity, she wept still as a tribute to her dignity.
"Of course, if you insist upon it, I will come," she said; "but my poor little dinner would have been quite a treat for you all. I intended to assist cook."
"Did you? worse and worse! Well, will you come to-morrow evening at seven?"
Mrs. Darrow bowed her head.
"And I hope you won't mind giving me a cheque, Uncle Barton. Miss Crane eats a great deal; she comes expensive."
Barton chuckled.