“You will have some mutton—yes? And Mr. Durnovo, where was he?”
Joseph bent over his plate, with elbows well out, wielding his knife and fork with a more obvious sense of enjoyment than usually obtains in the politer circles.
“Mr. Durnovo,” he said, with one quick glance towards her. “Oh, he was just behind Mr. Oscard. And he follows 'im, and we all shake hands just as if we was meeting in the Row, except that most of our hands was a bit grimy and sticky-like with blood and grease off'n the cartridges.”
“And,” said Marie, in an indirectly interrogative way, as she helped him to a piece of sweet potato, “you were glad to see them, Mr. Oscard and Mr. Durnovo—yes?”
“Glad ain't quite the word,” replied Joseph, with his mouth full.
“And they were not hurt or—ill?”
“Oh, no!” returned Joseph, with another quick glance. “They were all right. But I don't like sitting here and eatin' while you don't take bit or sup yourself. Won't you chip in, Mistress Marie? Come now, do.”
With her deep, patient smile she obeyed him, eating little and carelessly, like a woman in some distress.
“When will they come down to Loango?” she asked suddenly, without looking at him.
“Ah! that I can't tell you. We left quite in a hurry, as one may say, with nothin' arranged. Truth is I think we all feared that the guv'nor had got his route. He looked very like peggin' out, and that's the truth. Howsomever, I hope for the best now.”