It was clear now that my first perceptions of my cousin’s character were right, and that the extravagant part she had played was assumed, though for what motive I had yet to learn. Before long, O’Twist came out again, and asked me, with an air of obsequious deference, if I would take breakfast.
“I’ll wait,” I answered, “for my uncle,” who, as I spoke, threw open his bed-room window, waved his hand, and called out that he would be with me in a few minutes. Those few minutes lasted a long time. I grew so tired of waiting; that I returned to the house. It was nearly half-past ten, and I had not breakfasted! What is the meaning of all this? I thought. Is it my uncle’s turn now to play me a trick? At last I heard his boots creaking on the stairs, and he came into the room slowly, with the air of a man oppressed with trouble.
“I hardly know how to face you,” he exclaimed, taking my hand. “I am ashamed of myself, ashamed of my daughter, ashamed of my house—of everything! I have heard the whole story from Theresa, and have no words to express my annoyance to think that you should have been made the victim of so flagrant a violation of the commonest rules of politeness and hospitality.”
“Before I can answer you,” I said, “pray help me out of the fog in which I am still involved. What is the meaning of all this?”
“Breakfast, sor,” cried O’Twist from the door.
“Of course you have breakfasted!” exclaimed my uncle.
“Not yet.”
“Not breakfasted! and how long is it since you left your room?”
“Two hours.”
“Heaven forgive us!” he groaned; “it is not enough that they should wantonly insult you—they mean to starve you as well! Come!” he cried, catching me by the arm, and hurrying me into the dining-room, “not a word—not a word until you have breakfasted.”