I offer my little all. A
pauper's meal, my dear girl--seasoned with a gentleman's welcome."
"Seasoned with salt, pepper, chives and parsley," murmured Mrs. Wragge,
catching instantly at a word in connection with cookery, and harnessing
her head to the omelette for the rest of the evening.
"Sit straight at the table!" shouted the captain. "More to the left,
more still--that will do. During your absence upstairs," he continued,
addressing himself to Magdalen, "my mind has not been unemployed. I
have been considering your position with a view exclusively to your
own benefit. If you decide on being guided to-morrow by the light of
my experience, that light is unreservedly at your service. You may
naturally say: 'I know but little of you, captain, and that little is
unfavorable.' Granted, on one condition--that you permit me to make
myself and my character quite familiar to you when tea is over. False
shame is foreign to my nature. You see my wife, my house, my bread, my
butter, and my eggs, all exactly as they are. See me, too, my dear girl,
while you are about it."
When tea was over, Mrs. Wragge, at a signal from her husband, retired to
a corner of the room, with the eternal cookery-book still in her hand.
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