“Oh, none at all, Jasper. I pretended I was not hungry. It was such a pleasure to see him eat it!”
“And what about the fried potatoes, love?”
“He ate them too with such an appetite—I just took a few to satisfy him. Do you know, Jasper, he says that he thinks an abstemious life agrees with me. He says that I am looking very well, and that he is quite sure no one needs big fires and plenty of food in cold weather—it is simply and entirely a matter of habit.”
“Oh! don’t talk to me of him any more,” said Jasper. “He is the sort of man to give me the dismals. I cannot tell you how often I dream of him at night. You are a great deal too good to him, Sylvia, and that is the truth. But here—here is our dinner, you poor frozen lamb. Eat now and satisfy yourself.”
Sylvia sat down and ate with considerable appetite the good and nourishing food which Jasper had provided. As she did so her bright, clear, dark eyes grew brighter than ever, and her young cheeks became full of the lovely color of the damask rose. She pushed her hair from her forehead, and looked thoughtfully into the fire.
“You feel better, dear, don’t you?” asked Jasper.
“Better!” said the young girl. “I feel alive. I wonder, Jasper, how long it will last.”
“Why should it not go on for some time, dear? I have money—enough, that is, for the present.”
“But you are spending your money on me.”
“Not at all. You are keeping me and feeding me. I give you twenty shillings a week, and out of that you feed me as well as yourself.”