“Have some poached eggs, daddy—pa?” said Fin, correcting herself with much gravity, and revelling in the look of suffering upon her aunt’s face. “No? Tiny, give papa some of the turkey.”
Sir Hampton fed himself mechanically, passed some letters to his wife and eldest daughter, and read his own.
“Is there no letter for me, Hampton?” said Miss Matilda, plaintively.
There was a grunt, indicative of “No,” from the knight; and Miss Matilda sighed, and went on sipping her sugarless tea, and nibbling some very dry, butterless toast.
“I say, Aunt Matty,” said Fin, merrily, “I mean to take you in hand.”
“Take me in hand, child?” said the spinster.
“Yes, aunty. Now, look here; if, instead of stopping grumping here at home, you had had a jolly good run with us—”
Miss Matilda took a sip of her tea, which might have been vinegar from the aspect of her countenance.
“You could have gathered ferns, sipped the bright morning dew, come back with a colour, and eaten a breakfast like I do. Tiny, give me some more of that turkey.”
“Your appetite is really ravenous, child,” said Miss Matilda, with a shudder.