"That ham is detestable, Mrs. Bodkin."
"Indeed, my lady."
"The cold fowl's abominable!"
"Sure now, my lady!"
"And the tongue frightful!"
"Lawk-a-daisy!—your ladyship don't say so!"
"I do say so, though, Mrs. Bodkin!" cried Sir Christopher's better half; "and I just tell you what it is—I don't mean to have my breakfast spoilt in this way; and if you can't find tradesmen who'll supply good things——"
"Why, please your ladyship," interrupted the housekeeper, quite astounded at these accusations against comestibles which she knew to be excellent: "Mr. Smuggs, who sent in the ham and tongue, is purveyor to His Majesty; and——"
"Then if His Majesty chooses to put up with Mr. Smuggs's rubbish, Lady Blunt will not!" exclaimed the mistress of the house, glancing indignantly, first at the petrified Mrs. Bodkin and then at the dumb-founded Sir Christopher.
There was, as romancists say, an awful pause.