His term was inadvisedly chosen, and Zeb flashed him a wicked glance over the bone that her little, sharp teeth were gnawing. Stargarde to her dismay saw that there was a smouldering fire of distrust and dislike between her two guests, that at any moment might break into open flame. Zeb was jealous of Dr. Camperdown. With ready, quick suspicion, she divined the fact that his sympathies were not with her kind. He would take away from her and her fellow-paupers the beautiful woman who at present lived only for them, and she hated him accordingly.
She had only recently come to Halifax. She had experienced different and worse degrees of misery in other cities, and now that a new, bright world was dawning upon her, it was not pleasant to know that her benefactor might be snatched at any moment from her. So she hated him, and he almost hated her as a representative of a class that absorbed the attention of the only woman in the world that he cared for, and who, but for them, would, he knew, devote herself to the endeavor of making more human and more happy his present aching, lonely, miserable heart.
Aware of all this, Stargarde kept the conversation flowing smoothly in channels apart from personal concerns. She talked continuously herself, and laughed like a girl full of glee when the moment for changing the plates having arrived, Dr. Camperdown and Zeb politely rising to assist her, left the table deserted.
When they reseated themselves she drew Zeb’s chair closer to her own, for she saw that the child had satisfied her hunger and at any moment might commence hostilities.
“Will you have some tart, Zeb?” she asked kindly.
“Oh, land, no!” said the child; “I’m stuffed. Give it to piggy there. He’s good for an hour yet,” and she pointed a disdainful finger to the other end of the table.
Dr. Camperdown had a large appetite—an appetite that was, in fact, immense, but he did not like to be reminded of it, and looked with considerable animosity at the small child.
“Do not pay any attention to her, Brian,” said Stargarde rapidly in German, then she turned to Zeb. “Dr. Camperdown had no dinner. He is hungry. Won’t you go and look at those picture books till we finish?”
“I don’t want ter,” said the child, as she nestled closer to her, “I likes to be with yer.”
What could Stargarde do in the face of such devotion? She left Dr. Camperdown to his own devices, and cracking nuts for the child searched diligently for a philopena. Having found one she shared it with her, related the pretty German custom concerning it, and promised Zeb a present if she would first surprise her the next day.