“Scalded himself as usual! He is so impetuous with his food. Do him good to have a lesson.” Then he in his turn partook of the dainty, and his eyes grew bigger and bigger, rounder and rounder, the Adam’s apple worked violently in his throat. For one moment it seemed as though he too would fly from the room, but presently the struggle was over, and he leaned back in his chair, pale and dejected, his glance meeting Sylvia’s with melancholy sympathy.
“What is the matter?” queried Bridgie once more, and this time there was a touch of testiness in her voice, for it was trying to have her efforts treated with such want of appreciation, and even if the dish were not all that could be desired, consideration for her feelings might have kept her brothers silent before a stranger. “Miles, you taste it!” she cried, and Miles smacked his lips for a thoughtful moment, and pronounced sturdily—
“It’s very good!”
Sylvia groaned involuntarily; she could not help it, and Jack gasped with incredulous dismay, staring at his brother as if he could not believe his senses.
“Well, I always did say that there was nothing in this wide world which would quell your appetite, but this beats everything! Take another spoonful—I dare you to do it!”
“All right, here goes! It’s a very good mixture,” said Miles complacently, swallowing spoonful after spoonful, while his vis-à-vis looked on with distended eyes, and Pat stood transfixed upon the threshold. As for Bridgie, her face brightened with relief, and she smiled upon her younger brother with grateful affection.
“That’s right, Miles; never mind what they say! You are the greatest comfort I have. Some people are so saucy there is no pleasing them. You and I will enjoy it, if no one else will.”
So far she had prudently refrained from experimenting on her own account, but now she took up her spoon, and there was a breathless silence in the room while she lifted it to her lips. It fell back on the plate with a rattle and clang, and an agonised glance roamed round the table from one face to another.
“Oh—oh—oh! How p–p–p–perfectly awful! What can have happened? It was so nice when I left it! Has anyone”—the voice took a tone of indignation—“have any of you boys been playing tricks on me?”
“How could we, now, if you think of it? We have been upstairs or in the drawing-room ever since we came back. It’s not the will that’s wanting, but the opportunity!” cried the boys in chorus; but it was not a time for joking, and Bridgie smote upon the table-gong with a determined hand.