“To eat, of course.”
“Pah! you cook enough for a tavern. What’s the use of talking to you of economy. I’ll take it out of your wages.”
“No, you won’t,” said the woman by the doorway, pouting out her lips. “I’m not here to starve.”
Zeus Gildersedge turned his back on her.
“Bring in supper,” he snarled.
“You’re crusty to-night, master.”
“Don’t answer me, woman. Bring in supper.”
“Miss Joan ain’t in.”
“Bring in supper.”
“Taters and sheeps’ ribs. I hope that’ll suit. Wouldn’t ruin a pauper. Have any cheese?”