"I was," said Oliver, wretchedly; "but I am not hungry now."
"Nay," said the other; "thou must be hungry. See! Another little supper;" and he motioned with his hand.
Oliver had not noticed it before, but there was a table spread with a white damask cloth, and with chairs placed for two.
"Let Gaspard show you to your apartment, where you may wash and refresh yourself, and by that time the little supper will be ready."
Oliver wondered what all this meant. He could scarcely believe that the smooth-spoken master and the quiet and well-trained serving-man were the same two as those white-faced demons who had grinned and gnashed at him across the blood-red line drawn around the door-way yonder, and yet he could not doubt it.
The supper was over, and the master, with his fingers locked around his glass, leaned across the table towards Oliver, who, after all, had made a good meal of it.
"THE QUESTION WAS SO SUDDEN AND SO STARTLING THAT OLIVER SANK BACK IN HIS SEAT."