“Ah, a claim!” she ejaculated, with combined interest and reverence. “Indeed, you are quite right about its being necessary to economize. Might I enqu’ah if it is a large one?”
“I believe it is,” Tom answered; “and it’s not likely to be put through in a month, and we have not money enough to keep us in luxury for much more. Probably we shall be able to make it last longer if we take rooms and buy our own food.”
“I’m sure you would, suh,” she answered, with a little eager flush on her cheek. “When people provide for themselves, they can sometimes do without—things.” She added the last word hurriedly and gave a little cough which sounded nervous.
It was finally agreed that they should take three little rooms she showed them, in one of which there was a tiny stove, upon which they could prepare such simple food as they could provide themselves with. The arrangement was not a luxurious one, but it proved to be peculiarly suitable to the owners of the great De Willoughby claim.
As they had not broken fast, Tom went out to explore the neighbourhood in search of food. He thought he remembered having seen in a side street a little store. When he returned, after some wanderings, a wood fire was crackling in the stove and Sheba had taken off her hat and put on a white apron.
“Hello!” exclaimed Tom.
“I borrowed it from Miss Burford,” she said. “I went down to see her. She let us have the wood, too. Rupert made the fire.”
She took the paper bags from Tom’s hands and stood on tiptoe to kiss him, smiling sweetly at his rather troubled face.
“All my life you have been doing things for me. Now it is my turn,” she said. “I have watched Mornin ever since I was born. I am going to be your servant.”
In an hour from the time they had taken possession of their quarters, they were sitting at a little table before an open window, making a breakfast of coffee and eggs. Sheba was presiding, and both men were looking at her flushed cheeks adoringly.