"I eats bread, too, and likewise corn porridge," Jack replied coldly.
"I could tell you how to make more of your meat—I should think you'd sicken of stew everlastingly."
"There's worse than stew," he suggested.
"I don't know what's worse, then," the young lady retorted, wrinkling her very pretty nose.
"None. That's worse," said Jack, triumphantly.
"It seems to me," Sarella observed thoughtfully, "as if you're growing a bit oldish to do for yourself, and have no one to do anything for you. An elderly man wants a woman to keep him comfortable."
Jack snorted, but Sarella, undefeated, proceeded to put the case of his being ill. Who would nurse him?
"Ill! I've too much to do for sech idleness. The Boss'd stare if I laid out to get ill."
"Illness," Sarella remarked piously, "comes from Above, and may come any day. Haven't you anyone belonging to you, Jack? No sister, no niece; you never were married, I suppose, so I don't mention a daughter."
"I was married, though," Jack explained, much delighted, "and had a daughter, too."