To which also Winthrop made no answer except by a look.
CHAPTER XXIV.
I watch thee from the quiet shore;
Thy spirit up to mine can reach;
But in dear words of human speech
We two communicate no more.
TENNYSON.
Mrs. Nettley was putting the finishing touches to her breakfast — that is, to her breakfast in prospect. A dish of fish and the coffee-pot stood keeping each other cheerful on one side the hearth; and Mrs. Nettley was just, with some trouble, hanging a large round griddle over the blazing fire. Her brother stood by, with his hands on his sides, and a rather complacent face.
"What's that flap-jack going on for?"
"For something I like, if you don't," said his sister. "George —"
Mrs Nettley stopped while her iron ladle was carefully bestowing large spoonfuls of batter all round the griddle.
"What?" said Mr. Inchbald, when it was done.
"Somebody up-stairs likes 'em. Don't you suppose you could get Mr. Landholm to come down. He likes 'em, and he don't get 'em now-a-days — nor too much of anything that's good. I don't know what he does live on, up there."
"Anything is better than those things," said her brother.