"Why?"
"Oh well, I don't know, because—I mean—I think—I like you. You are not really like he said you were. I never thought it."
I pounced. "He said I was? What about him? What did he say? Tell me."
Aunt Martha came in and cut us short.
That night in bed, in my usual Think I found how much happier I was. I placed him high; excelling Miss Glory Clinker, equalling Brother Briggs and much nicer looking, nearing the Stranger, and falling short of my Grandmother only. That was my complete catalogue of friendly people. Yet why did he never take my part? Why had he not made it clearer to Uncle Simeon that he disliked him as he had told me he did, and disliked him most of all for ill-treating me? Over and above all, how could he sit at meals gorging himself on dainties and look calmly across the table at me with never enough to eat?
Since his arrival food had improved, but not for me. The contrast was the more marked. At breakfast for instance, Robert began with porridge, of course with sugar and milk, then he had an egg, usually poached on a piece of buttered toast; or a rasher of bacon with lovely bread fried in the fat, and laver; or perhaps mackerel done in butter. Then he had as many slices of bread and butter as he wanted, spread with some of Aunt Martha's home-made jam, whortleberry, raspberry or black currant (by what he was allowed to eat I gauged the mighty sum Uncle Vivian must be paying for board: I had no idea of money values but the sum must be vast, infinite). Uncle Simeon had much the same, less the jam. Albert was not only docked the jam, but his egg was merely boiled instead of poached and served on toast, or if it were bacon he had no laver and a much smaller piece of bread fried in the fat. There was a heavy drop to Aunt Martha, who had porridge, and bread and butter with jam. I came last of all with porridge and jamless bread and butter; very often not even the latter because of punishments or "mortifyings." Note the careful grading. Robert got the most: there was a purse behind him. Uncle Simeon's lavishness here was dictated by meanness: "If I feed the boy well, he stays; if he stays he pays." For himself he was torn as always between meanness and greed. He compromised shrewdly by foregoing his jam, which he did not care for overmuch. Meanness alone governed Albert's ration, so the King's son got less than the King. Aunt Martha received what her husband chose to allow her, as a good wife should. Spite as well as meanness apportioned to me, Hagar, least of all; though if my bigger portion of porridge were counted against her jam, Aunt Martha really fared no better than I did; and thin and pale she looked. Robert riled me most. It was natural for Uncle Simeon to be mean, greedy, vile. In Robert I felt it was wrong; like Methodies, he knew better. Kind brown eyes were all very well, but a poor set-off to a greedy little belly. One morning therefore when in the middle of breakfast, just as he was beginning his poached egg, Robert said he felt sick, I neither felt sorry nor pretended to. Justice at last! I hoped he would be very, very sick. Uncle Simeon followed him out, fawning.
"Look here child, eat this," said Aunt Martha passing me Robert's poached egg, "'twill do you good." Kindly but fearfully: her usual struggle. She declined to share it with me, so I accepted. I was just munching the last delicious yellow mouthful, when Robert came back, looking still pale, but better. He saw what had happened, and flushed crimson. He saw what I thought of him and flushed deeper.
That afternoon, when I was in my bedroom putting on my hat, there was a timid knocking. He walked in. I hardened my heart.
"I'm sorry about breakfast, Mary," he faltered. I knew his heart was beating fast.
"Breakfast? What do you mean, Master Robert?"