“Oh, I didn’t know you were down, gentlemen,” she cried, as she hurried into the parlour. “I have been over to my neighbour’s to see if she could help me now that I am in such a fix.”
“Well, could she?” said Uncle Paul.
“Oh yes, sir. As luck had it, she was baking yesterday, and she had plenty of butter and eggs, besides a small ham which had just been smoked.”
“Oh, come,” said Uncle Paul, “we shall be able to keep you alive for a few days longer, Pickle; and I suppose you will soon be able to let us have breakfast, Mrs Champernowne?”
“Oh yes, sir, very quickly. I shall only want time to fry the ham.”
Uncle Paul gave an involuntary sniff, as if the aroma of the fragrant brown had floated to his nostrils.
“But you can’t tell, sir, how sorry I am that such a thing should have happened to gentlemen staying in my house;” and the poor woman looked appealingly to uncle and nephew, and back.
“Don’t you say another word about it, madam,” replied Uncle Paul. “You make us a nice clear cup of coffee to take away the taste of the night’s adventures.”
“I will indeed, sir, and I won’t say another word, only thank you for taking it so patiently and, if I might make the observation, in such a lamb-like way.”
Rodd turned round very quickly, walked to the window, and began to whistle softly.