“Gently, gently!” cried the doctor. “You have neither bread nor salt.”
“Get’s plenty o’ them at the House,” cried the boy, with his mouth full; “and you’d better look sharp, too. The bell’ll ring directly, and we shall have to—no it won’t ring here, will it!” he said, looking from one to another.
“No, sir,” said the doctor sternly; “and you must not eat like that. Watch how Miss Grayson eats her lunch, and try and imitate her.”
The boy gave the doctor a sharp glance, and then, in a very praiseworthy manner, tried to partake of the savoury joint in a decent way.
But it was hard work for him. The well-cooked succulent meat was so toothsome that he longed to get to the end of it; and whenever he was not watching the doctor and his daughter he kept glancing at the dish, wondering whether he would be asked to have any more.
“What’s that rum-looking stuff?” he said, as the doctor helped himself from a small tureen.
“Mint sauce, sir. Will you have some?”
“I don’t know. Let’s taste it.”
The little sauce tureen was passed to him, and he raised the silver ladle, but instead of emptying it upon his plate he raised it to his lips, and drank with a loud, unpleasant noise, suggestive of the word soup.
The doctor was going to utter a reproof, but the sight of Helen’s mirth checked him, and he laughed heartily as he saw the boy’s face full of disgust.