"Pretty well," was the cook's answer. "It's a tolerable large family; and Mr. Thornycroft has a good deal given away."
"Provisions?"
"He do; he's a downright good man, my lady. Not a morning passes, but some poor family or other from the village comes up and carries home what's not wanted here."
"I wonder you don't have them up at night as well," said my lady, in sarcasm.
The cook took it literally.
"That's one of the few things not allowed at the Red Court Farm. Mr. Thornycroft won't have people coming here at night: and for the matter of that," added the woman, "they'd not care to come by the plateau after dark.--About today's dinner, my lady?"
Yes; about today's dinner. As if in aggravation of the powers that had been, my lady ordered soles, a piece of roast beef, the tart that had not been cut yesterday, and the remainder of the lemon cream.
As she went sailing away, the cook returned into the kitchen to Sinnett. The woman was really perplexed.
"I say, Sinnett, here's a start! A piece of ribs of beef, and nothing else. What's to be done?"
"Send it up," quietly replied Sinnett.