The old lady subsided in an incoherent gurgle of indignation.
Meanwhile, the sight of tears, as was always the case, had moved the tender heart of Miss Burden.
“Dear Lady Crewkerne,” said she, “Miss Perry has had a long journey. I feel sure she must be tired. Would she not like a little refreshment?”
The mention of the word refreshment seemed unmistakably to touch a responsive chord in the susceptible mechanism of Miss Perry.
“Bring some tea,” said the old lady to Mr. Marchbanks very gruffly. And then to the culprit she said with tremendous austerity, “Would you like something to eat?”
“Oh yes, please,” said Miss Perry. At the same moment she mopped up her tears with an absurdly small handkerchief with a blue-spotted border.
“What do you eat, as a rule?” said the old lady, with a sarcasm that was not in the least obvious to Miss Perry.
“I eat bread and jam, as a rule,” said Miss Perry, with a promptitude that was delightfully persuasive.
“Humph,” said the old lady. She measured Miss Perry with her grim old eyes as though she were a rare specimen in the Zoölogical Garden. “Bread and jam,” said she. And then, with an air of really tremendous sarcasm, she said for the guidance of a discreet spectator, “Have the goodness, Marchbanks, to bring some bread and jam.”
The old lady made a second survey of Miss Perry, from the crown of the luckless straw hat to the soles of the cobbled boots, while the object of it folded up neatly the handkerchief with the spotted border and returned it to a mysterious pocket. She then stood wondering what was going to happen in a singularly solemn manner.