One high-backed old-fashioned chair stood on each
side of the hearth. Tom the Porter was sitting in one of them, and at
his elbow was a small round table with a pipe, tobacco jar, and two or
three books upon it. A square table in the middle of the room was laid
out for supper, with a dish, two plates, a beer mug, and half a loaf
of bread. Some potatoes were roasting on the hob.
"The old woman's asleep, I expects. You'll mind and not make a noise,"
the inspector said to Ideala, as if he were warning a child to be good.
Tom the Porter rose, and gazed at the lady with his mouth open in a
state of astonishment that was justified by the time and place of her
advent; but he offered her his chair with the courtesy of a gentleman,
and the old inspector bade her make herself at home, which she did by
removing her hat and wraps and taking off her gloves. In a higher
sphere of life those two men would have stared her out of countenance,
but Tom the Porter and the old inspector, not from want of
appreciation, but from the refinement that seems natural to people who
come of an old stock, whatever their station, and have had china and
carved oak in their possession from one generation to another--forebore
even to look at her lest she should be embarrassed by their curiosity.
Pages:
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196