cut herself a large thin slice. She sat down again and began to eat it, her eyes fixed anxiously on the door through which Kirke would enter. There was no sound in the other room. Kirke must be listening to Mr. Beemer for a change.
It was nearly noon and she was so hungry. She finished the cheese. Then she went to the cupboard and opened the door upon the squares of honey. A fat bumble-bee that had been knocking his head clumsily against the glass, flew in before she could stop him. A puddle of honey lay on the wooden frame of one of the squares. She put her finger, first in it then in her mouth. Strange how many lovely, sweet things there were in the world—and so much trouble.
"Ha!" said Kirke's voice behind her. "Into the honey, eh?"
She was dreadfully ashamed.
"Oh, Mr. Kirke, I didn't hear you coming," she stammered.
"Weel, never mind. We're friends." He came and put his hand under her chin and kissed her in an offhand, arrogant fashion. "We're friends, aren't we? We micht be very good friends." (Another kiss.) "Sweeter than honey, eh?" (Another.) "Ah, Delight, Delight, you're going to fall on this town like another blight. It's terrible. It's fair rideeculous."
She pulled herself away from him, and snatched up her hat.
"Is Beemer goin' to take me on or isn't he?" she demanded, colour flooding her face.
"He is, thanks to me."
"No thanks to you, Mr. Kirke, for treating me like this. It's an outrageful thing, I say. I threw Perkin Heaslip in the stream for no more."
