Two distressing reasons combined to compel Mrs. Chater to give Mary place at the evening meal. There was the aggravating fact that mothers'-helps, just as if they were ordinary people, must be fed; there was also the contingency that servants most strongly objected to serving a special meal--even “on a tray”--to one who was not of the family, yet who had airs above the kitchen.
Except, then, when there were guests Miss Humfray must be accommodated at late dinner. Mrs. Chater considered it annoying, yet found in it certain comfortable advantages--as sympathy from friends: “Mustn't it be rather awkward sometimes, Mrs. Chater?” A plaintive shrug would illustrate the answer: “Well, it is, of course, very awkward sometimes; but one must put up with it. That class of person takes offence so easily, you know; and I always try to treat my lady-helps as well as possible.”
“I'm sure you do, Mrs. Chater. How grateful they should be!” And this time a sad little laugh would illustrate: “Oh, one hardly expects gratitude nowadays, does one?”
Mary at dinner must observe certain rules, however. Certain dishes--a little out of season, perhaps, or classed as luxuries--were borne triumphantly past her by a glad parlour-maid acting upon a frown and a glance that Mrs. Chater signalled. Certain occasions, again, when private matters were to be discussed, were heralded by “Miss Humfray,” in an inflexion of voice that set Mary to fold her napkin and from the room.
The girl greeted these early dismissals with considerable relief. Dinner was to her a nightly ordeal whose atmosphere swept appetite sky-high--took the savour from meats, dried the throat.
Descending to the dining-room upon this evening, her normal shrinking from the meal was considerably augmented. On the previous night--the first upon which Mr. Bob Chater's legs had partnered hers beneath the table--his eyes (like some bold gallant popping out on modesty whenever it dared peep from the doorway) had captured her glance each time she ventured look up from her plate. The episode of the nursery was equivalent to having slapped the gallant's face, and the re-encounter was proportionately uncomfortable.
Taking her place she was by sheer nervousness impelled to meet his gaze--so heavily freighted it was as to raise a sudden flush to her cheek. Her eyes fled round to Mrs. Chater, received a look that questioned the blush, drove it duskier; through an uncomfortable half-hour she kept her face towards her plate.