“Will you have any breakfast?” Emily asked him coldly.
“I’ll have a bit if there’s any for me,” he replied.
“It has been waiting for you, long enough,” she answered. He turned and went with a dull thud of his stockinged feet across to the dining-room. Emily rang for the maid, I followed George, leaving the betrothed together. I found my host moving about the dining-room, looking behind the chairs and in the corners.
“I wonder where the devil my slippers are!” he muttered explanatorily. Meanwhile he continued his search. I noticed he did not ring the bell to have them found for him. Presently he came to the fire, spreading his hands over it. As he was smashing the slowly burning coal the maid came in with the tray. He desisted, and put the poker carefully down. While the maid spread his meal on one corner of the table, he looked in the fire, paying her no heed. When she had finished:
“It’s fried white-bait,” she said. “Shall you have that?”
He lifted his head and looked at the plate.
“Ay,” he said. “Have you brought the vinegar?”
Without answering, she took the cruet from the sideboard and set it on the table. As she was closing the door, she looked back to say:
“You’d better eat it now, while it’s hot.”
He took no notice, but sat looking in the fire.
“And how are you going on?” he asked me.
“I? Oh, very well! And you——?”
