“No, Ma is out, so it doesn’t matter. You are not vexed with me for coming here, Mike?”
“Not at all, not at all. Quite delighted, I assure you. It’s not often I get a visitor to lunch, though Adeline brings the kiddie occasionally.”
He led the way up a short flight of stairs to a room marked “private,” and, opening the door, stood back for Dinah to enter. Although not large, it was a sumptuously furnished room, fitted with all the comforts that the owner could possibly desire. Red was the predominant tone, the wall-paper, carpet, hangings and upholstery being all of that colour. A large pigeon-hole cabinet and desk combined took up the whole of one wall, whilst a small card-table bore testimony to the fact that the proprietor was not averse to a little recreation in the midst of work. One picture only adorned the walls: it was an enlarged portrait of the woman he cared most about—his wife.
Dinah inspected her surroundings with undisguised approval, then sat down to the table, which gleamed with the finest cutlery and silver.
Suddenly something pink streaked with fat caught her eye. She glanced at it casually at first, then fixedly, and finally gasped in astonishment.
“Mike, you humbug!” she exclaimed in a tone of pained surprise. “It’s—it’s—ham!”
Mike felt himself go red down to the back of his neck. What an idiot he was not to have ordered the unlawful viand to be removed before the girl entered the room—but he had scarcely had time.
“Yes,” he replied with exaggerated carelessness, “my doctor recommends it as an extremely nutritious article of food. Adeline objects to have it in the house at all at home, so I am obliged to partake of it down here. However, I will not hurt your feelings by offering you any. This is a very tender chicken.”
He proceeded to carve the bird, handing a well-filled plate of it to his guest.
Dinah’s face fell. Looking longingly at the ham, she began to trifle with her chicken.