‘There’s bread and butter,’ replied Alice, with lofty scorn.
‘Hullo! Is it you?’ exclaimed the young man, affecting to recognise his sister. ‘I thought you was above coming here Have they turned you out of your house?’
‘That’s what’ll happen to you, I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘Arry cast a glance towards his mother. Seeing that her eyes were fixed in another direction, he began pantomimic interrogation of Alice. The latter disregarded him.
‘Arry presented an appearance less than engaging. He still bore the traces of last night’s debauch and of his sojourn in the police-cell. There was dry mud on the back of his coat, his shirt-cuffs and collar were of a slaty hue, his hands and face filthy. He began to eat bread and butter, washing down each morsel with a gulp of tea. The spoon remained in the cup whilst he drank. To ‘Arry it was a vast relief to be free from the conventionalities of Adela’s table.
‘That lawyer fellow Yottle’s been to see them to-day,’ he remarked presently.
Alice looked at him eagerly.
‘What about?’
‘There was talk about you and Rodman.’
‘What did they say?’