“Hum!” said the doctor, “only one pudding and no sweets. Why, Macey, they’re behaving shabbily to you to-day.”
Aunt Hannah looked puzzled, and Vane stared.
“Is there no tart or custard, Eliza?” asked the doctor.
“Yes, sir; both coming, sir,” said the maid, who was very red in the face.
“Then what have you there?”
Eliza made an unspellable noise in her throat, snatched off the cover from the dish, and hurried out of the room.
“Dear me!” said the doctor putting on his glasses, and looking at the dish in which, in the midst of a quantity of brownish sauce, there was a little island of blackish scraps, at which Aunt Hannah gazed blankly, spoon in hand.
“What is it, my dear?” continued the doctor.
“I’m afraid, dear, it is a dish of those fungi that Vane brought in this morning.”
“Oh, I see. You will try them, Macey?”