Volume One—Chapter Four.
Drawing a Dog’s Teeth.
“I think that’s all, Mr Hallam, sir,” said Mrs Pinet, looking plump, smiling, and contented, as she ran her eyes over the tea-table in the bank manager’s comfortably-furnished room—“tea-pot, cream, salt, pepper, butter, bread,”—she ran on below her breath in rapid enumeration, “why, bless my heart, I didn’t bring the sauce!”
“Yes, that’s all, Mrs Pinet,” said the manager in his gravely-polite manner.
“But, begging your pardon, it is not, sir; I forgot the sauce.”
“Oh! never mind that to-night.”
“If you’ll excuse me, sir, I would rather,” said plump, pleasant-faced Mrs Pinet, who supplemented a small income by letting apartments; and before she could be checked she hurried out, to return at the end of a few minutes, bearing a small round bottle.
“And King of Oude,” said the little woman. “Shall I take the cover, sir?”
“If you please, Mrs Pinet?”
“Which it’s a pleasure to wait upon such a thorough gentleman,” said Mrs Pinet to herself as she trotted back to her own region, leaving Hallam gazing down at the homely, pleasant meal.