"You might say a good word for me to Mrs. Pedvinn," he said aloud, "I live nearer to Rohais than Lelever does, and with young children she might be glad to have some one at hand."
"You may be sure you won't never find me ungrateful, sir," answered the housekeeper; and Owen, shading his eyes with his hand, sat pondering over the use of this word "ungrateful," with its faint yet perceptible emphasis.
Margot, meanwhile, laid the supper; the remains of a rabbit-pie, a big "pinclos" or spider crab, with thin, red knotted legs, spreading far over the edges of the dish, the apple-goche, hot from the oven, cider, and the now half-empty bottle of brandy. The four sat down and fell to. Margot was in boisterous spirits; everything she said or did was meant to attract Owen's attention. Her cheeks flamed with excitement; she wanted his eyes to be perpetually upon her. But Owen's interest in her had long ceased. To-night, while eating heartily, he was absorbed in his ruling passion: to get on in the world, to make money, to be admitted into Island society. Behind the pallid, impenetrable mask, which always enraged yet intimidated Margot, he plotted incessantly, schemed, combined, weighed this and that, studied his prospects from every point of view.
Supper over, he lighted his meerschaum; Tourtel produced a short clay, and the bottle was passed between them. The women left them together, and for ten, twenty minutes, there was complete silence in the room. Tourtel let his pipe go out, and rapped it down brusquely upon the table.
"It must come to an end," he said, with suppressed ferocity; "are we eider to spen' de whole of our lives here, or else be turned off at de eleventh hour after sufferin' all de heat an' burden of de day? Its onreasonable. An dere's de cottage at Cottu standin'
