“Yes; and you vented your spite on me, on poor old Bo-peep, who has the kindest heart in Christendom.”
“I may have said some things that I regret,” said Maggie; “but, at any rate, I had the night to think matters over, and if you give me some breakfast I can talk to you.”
“I will take you to Harrison’s for breakfast,” said Martin. “You’ll get a topper there, I can tell you—eggs, bacon, kidneys, liver, game-pie, cocoa, coffee, tea, chocolate; anything and everything you fancy, and the best marmalade in London.”
Maggie felt rather hungry, and when the pair entered Harrison’s she was not displeased at the liberal supply of food which her future stepfather ordered. He pretended to hate the aristocracy, as he called them, and poor Maggie could certainly never claim this distinction in her own little person. Nevertheless, she was entirely superior to Martin, and he felt a sort of pride in her as she walked up the long restaurant by his side.
“Now, waiter,” he said to the man who approached to take orders, “you look slippy. This young ’oman and me, we want a real comfortable, all-round, filling meal. You give us the best the house contains; and look slippy, I say.”
The waiter did look “slippy,” whatever that word might imply, and Martin proceeded to treat Maggie to really excellent viands and to satisfy himself to his heart’s content. Maggie ate with a certain amount of relish, for, as has been said, she was really hungry. 91
“Like it, don’t you?” said Martin as he watched her consuming her eggs and bacon.
“Oh yes, very much indeed,” said Maggie.
“I’m fond of a good table myself,” said Martin. “This is the sort of thing you’ll have on all occasions and at every meal at Laburnum Villa. We’ll soon fill your poor mother’s thin cheeks out, and get her rosy and plump, and then she’ll be a more charming Little-sing to her own Bo-peep than ever.”
Maggie was silent.