'The things are very nice.'
'No, they are not, and you know they are not. They are worthless; perfectly worthless.'
'But we don't want anything.'
'No; and if there had been no pretence of a gift it would all have been very well. What will Mr. Green think?'
'I rather think he likes iron chairs;' and then they were in the drawing-room.
Mr. Mason did not appear till dinner-time, and came in only just in time to give his arm to Mrs. Green. He had had letters to write,—a letter to Messrs. Round and Crook, very determined in its tone; and a letter also to Mr. Dockwrath, for the little attorney had so crept on in the affair that he was now corresponding with the principal. 'I'll teach those fellows in Bedford Row to know who I am,' he had said to himself more than once, sitting on his high stool at Hamworth.
And then came the Groby Park Christmas dinner. To speak the truth Mr. Mason had himself gone to the neighbouring butcher, and ordered the surloin of beef, knowing that it would be useless to trust to orders conveyed through his wife. He had seen the piece of meat put on one side for him, and had afterwards traced it on to the kitchen dresser. But nevertheless when it appeared at table it had been sadly mutilated. A stake had been cut off the full breadth of it—a monstrous cantle from out its fair proportions. The lady had seen the jovial, thick, ample size of the goodly joint, and her heart had been unable to spare it. She had made an effort and turned away, saying to herself that the responsibility was all with him. But it was of no use. There was that within her which could not do it. 'Your master will never be able to carve such a mountain of meat as that,' she had said, turning back to the cook. ''Deed, an' it's he that will, ma'am,' said the Irish mistress of the spit; for Irish cooks are cheaper than those bred and born in England. But nevertheless the thing was done, and it was by her own fair hands that the envious knife was used. 'I couldn't do it, ma'am,' the cook had said; 'I couldn't railly.'
Mr. Mason's face became very black when he saw the raid that had been effected, and when he looked up across the table his wife's eye was on him. She knew what she had to expect, and she knew also that it would not come now. Her eye stealthily looked at his, quivering with fear; for Mr. Mason could be savage enough in his anger. And what had she gained? One may as well ask what does the miser gain who hides away his gold in an old pot, or what does that other madman gain who is locked up for long long years because he fancies himself the grandmother of the Queen of England?
But there was still enough beef on the table for all of them
