"A what, sir?"
"A piggish habit. Are there no laundries or washerwomen about here?"
"Plenty, sir, but we don't want to over-work 'em. Will you give me a bit of the knuckle for the mistress, she likes knuckle. It's not often she gets meat for her dinner, only beef and lamb and mutton, no pork or veal or beefsteak pie. That's the knuckle, sir, the other end."
Splutterings and drill language from Peter.
"And what does she have then?" asked mother.
"A whitin', mum, mostly."
"She looks like it."
"And you'd look like it too, sir, if you was to lie still, flat on your back, day after day."
Arrival of Amelia with my tray. Confidential whispering. The meat will have to be hashed to-morrow, as it's been carved so disgracefully. I cheer her up to the best of my ability.
Return of Amelia to dining-room.