“Not after all, but just before,” he said reassuringly, placing chairs at the table also with a good deal of assurance. But he was not so engrossed by the occupation as to fail to see the glances exchanged between the girls—glances of doubt, shot through with the enquiry, “Should we?”
“What a day it is turning out, and the morning looked so fine,” said he, not gloomily, but cheerfully. “Won’t you sit down? The spatchcock’s all right, only it takes offence if it isn’t eaten at once.”
“I don’t see why we shouldn’t,” said Rosa boldly to her friend. The man turned his head away to enable her to do so—a movement that displayed tact and not tactics.
“You are extremely kind, Mr. Wingfield,” said Priscilla very formally. “I don’t suppose that we are quite in line with the precepts of the book of etiquette; and, besides, we have no business to deprive you of your lunch and——”
“And sleep,” murmured Rosa.
That finished the formally-worded apology. Before their triolet of laughter had passed away they were all seated at the table, and Mrs. Pearce had brought in the requisite crockery and cutlery. She did not forget the glasses. She beamed confidently upon the girls as if she was endeavouring to assure them that she was a mother herself, and that she would be at hand in case she should hear screams.
He showed some dexterity in carving his spatchcock. They kept their eyes on him, with a protest ready if he should leave nothing for himself; but they had no need of such vigilance, and their protest was uncalled for. He was quite fair to them and to himself, and witnessing his tact once more they became still more at their ease.
“The day doesn’t seem quite so hopeless now as it did a quarter of an hour ago,” he remarked, when they had all praised the cooking of Mrs. Pearce. “Nothing seems the same when a chap has done himself well in the eating and drinking line—especially the drinking. I don’t wonder that crimes are committed when people haven’t enough to eat.”
“I wonder if having too little to eat or too much to drink is most responsible,” said Priscilla.
“Meaning that it’s about time I opened that bottle?” said he. “Now, I can’t think that either of you is under the influence of a temperance lecturer; but if you are, you’ll drink all the same to my homecoming.”