“Could she, Hilda?” said Lalage. “It’s a long time since she has.”
“She must make a beginning some day,” I said.
“I still think she’d be better in bed,” said Lalage.
“After lunch,” I said firmly. “You ought not to be vindictive, Lalage. It’s a long time since that trouble about the character of Mary.”
“I’m not thinking of that,” said Lalage.
“And she’s not a bishop. Why should you starve her?”
“Very well,” said Lalage. “Do whatever you like, but don’t blame me afterward if she’s—— she was, on the steamer, horribly.”
We fed Miss Battersby on some soup, a fragment of fried fish and a glass of light wine. She evidently wanted to eat an omelette as well, but Lalage forbade this. Whether she was actually put to bed afterward or merely laid down I do not know. She must have been at least partially undressed, for Lalage and Hilda were plentifully supplied with cigarettes during the afternoon.