“Hum! ha! Suppose not. Well, don’t poison one of my pupils—yourself. Breakfast, gentlemen, breakfast. The matutinal coffee and one of Brader’s rolls, not like the London French, but passably good; and there is some cold stuffed chine.”
“Cold stuffed chine!” said Vane, as he walked in the other direction. “Why, these will be twice as good—if Martha will cook ’em. Nasty prejudiced old thing!”
Ten minutes later he reached a gate where the remains of a fine old avenue leading up to a low mossy-looking stone house, built many generations back; and as he neared it, a pleasant odour, suggestive of breakfast, saluted his nostrils, and he went round and entered the kitchen, to be encountered directly by quite an eager look from its occupant, as he made his petition.
Chapter Two.
Aunt and Uncle.
“No, Master Vane, I’ll not,” cried cook, bridling up, and looking as if an insult had been offered to her stately person; “and if master and missus won’t speak, it’s time someone else did.”
“But I only want them just plainly stewed with a little butter, pepper, and salt,” said Vane, with the basket in his hand.