Ethel did not come down to dinner, and altogether it was an unsatisfactory, unsatisfying meal! Jaded and worn out, we were really in need of food. But the meat was neither hot nor cold—the potatoes uncooked and uneatable—cook being evidently too overcome to attend to such every-day affairs. Annie, poor girl, looked tired out and not a little ashamed at having to set such dishes before us. Indeed she nearly broke down altogether when she informed us that she was sorry but cook had made no pudding.
“Why on earth not, Annie? Whatever is she thinking of?” The Tundish exclaimed.
“She says she’s all of a flutter, sir. You know how she goes on. I’d have made you something or other myself, only she told me nothing about it until it was too late.”
“You’re a good girl, Annie, and it’s no fault of yours. I’ll see cook afterward.”
Margaret looked her amusement, and as usual managed to bring in one of her proverbial sayings. This time it was passably apt, however. “Fools rush in where angels fear to tread,” she said, glancing round the table brightly.
Kenneth’s lips curled. The doctor was interfering again.
The telephone bell rang a good half-dozen times before we had finished, and each time The Tundish got up to answer it without murmur or protest. I could hear his end of the conversation, which ran almost word for word alike on each occasion.
“I’m sorry, but she’s gone to lie down and I don’t want to disturb her.”
“Yes, very sad indeed.”
“Sorry, but I can’t hear what you are saying. This line is very indistinct. Hello! I’ll let her know that you rang her up.”