In silence the lady continued her work.
“Angel Cook?”
“What do you think?”
“I think, considering your years, that your conversation is surprising. Eggs are very nourishing, and we are lucky to have them. Didn’t I make you a nice omelette only a few days ago?”
“You did, and I never knew a better for its purpose. I still use it for cleaning the windows.”
“Really! Well, you had better make it last, for you won’t get another.”
“Oh, don’t be angry! I thought you meant it as a keepsake.”
He approached with repentant air, but when threatened with her doughy hands, he retreated, and sat on the big chest by the window. This chest had served for his bed since his convalescence.
Elinor frowned, and pointed to the fire. Pats arose and laid on a fresh stick, then knelt upon the hearth and, with a seventeenth-century bellows, inlaid with silver, that would have graced the drawing-room of a palace, he coaxed the fire into a more active life.