“Kidneys, rashers and heggs, sorsiges, homlettes,” called the waiter off on his fingers.
“Wot’s yer mind?” asked Silas, turning to Jill. “Have a hegg done to a turn, and a little juicy slice of curled-up bacon on the top o’ it? And see yere, waiter, I’ll have a chump chop, and two heggs, and make the coffee strong, wotever you do. Now be quick, there’s a good chap.”
The waiter nodded, grinned, and disappeared. When Silas had given orders about his breakfast, he turned and looked at Jill with that slow, grave smile, which, nevertheless, was sweet enough to transform his rough face.
“I’m puzzled to know what flower to liken yer to,” he said. “Seems to me maybe as you most takes arter one o’ they dainty toolips afore they comes out into full bloom. Of all flowers under the sun, there seems to me to be more in a toolip than in any other. For one thing, it comes arter the dead, cold winter; then it’s so prim and yet so gay—so proper all round, and yet there’s sech a frolicsome look ’bout the little tips o’ the flowers jest where they half opens to let in the sunlight and the sunshine. Yes, you mind me o’ one o’ them dark red, rich-looking toolip-buds as comes in the spring.”
Jill scarcely replied to these words from Silas. She was thinking of the request she was about to make him, and wondering in what language she could best make known her sore want. She sat very still under the large rose-tree where he had placed her, her rich, dark head was slightly bent forward, her brown, yet shapely hands were folded over her many-coloured apron, her olive-tinted face was paler than its wont, the thick, heavy fringe of eyelashes caused a shadow on her cheek.
Silas gave her another quick, admiring glance.
“She’s a toolip, and a carnation, and a bit of a rose-bud all in one,” he murmured under his breath. “Never seen her like afore. See how quiet she sets, and how little she minds all I says to her. She’s hard to win, like one of them skittish colts at home. But why compare her to a colt? she’s a flower out and out. One o’ they cuttings werry precious and hard to strike in strange soil. I like her all the better for it. There’s breeding in every bit o’ her.”
“What shall I put in the basket to-day?” he continued. “How did the lilies go? and did the ladies wonder how you come by they choice rose-buds?”
These words roused Jill.
“You don’t know what that basket wor,” she said; “I sold off the flowers as fast as ever I could. They were lovely; there worn’t sech a basket to be seen with any other flower girl.”