We moved mournfully towards the room where our meals were to be served.
“You’ll have all you want,” Mrs. O’Grady said, cheerfully dusting a small plate with her apron. “The little bell’s lost, but you may call from the top of the stairs.”
“It’s very early for dinner,” I said severely.
Mrs. O’Grady sniffed. “It’s this way,” she said. “That girl’s bad with her feet. It comes from running up and down all day for the woman upstairs and wearing fashionable boots. I sez to her, it do be to bed you should be going, and it is the lady who has just moved into the drawing-room flat is the grand lady, and will not be after keeping you.’”
“She should stay away until she’s better,” I said decidedly.
“It’d be a charity,” declared Mrs. O’Grady, earnestly, but with no sincerity. “But these stairs do be terrible on my legs.”
She threw up her hands and withdrew.
Himself was gazing into the soup like Mélisande. I, being a philosopher, started on mine at once.