CHAPTER XIX
BROKEN-HEARTED MIRANDA
When we are in trouble we often take means to comfort ourselves that we should utterly despise in others.
Mrs. Whittaker in no way faltered in her resolve to win back Alfred to his old allegiance. The dinner was excellent.
“A very good bit of salmon,” said Alfred, looking inquiringly at his wife as he held the fish server and fork suggestively toward the dish; “you will have a bit more, dearest?”
“A little bit more,” said Regina.
In spite of the blow which had fallen upon her she was honestly and genuinely hungry. To a woman who lives well and eats her three meals a day, to say nothing of a very good tea thrown in, the loss of a meal is a very serious matter. Muffins, though consoling, are not possessed of much staying power, and Regina was, in spite of being so upset, genuinely famished.
“Cook is improving in her sharp sauce,” Alfred went on cheerfully as he helped himself a second time. “I often think,” he continued, “what a lucky thing it is that salmon is a summer fish, it is such a refreshing dish in hot weather.”