"And then a little savoury, tomato and olives, beaten to a cream, with the yolk of a hard-boiled egg served up on toast, cut into dice." 

 "Arrah, what talk!" said Sabina. 

 "Get him accustomed to that sort of dinner for three weeks or a month, and then ask him for a rise in your wages. He'll give it to you." 

 "He would not." 

 "He would. Any man would. The mistake you make is half-starving him. That makes his temper bad, and—" 

 "I wouldn't say then that ever I heard a cross word out of his mouth," said Sabina, "unless it might be when he'd be talking of Mr. Simpkins or the like." 

 "I suppose he swears then," said Meldon. 

 "He does terrible." 

 "I don't wonder. I never swear myself. Being a clergyman, I can't, of course. But from what I've seen of Mr. Simpkins, and from what I've heard about him, I should think he'd make most men swear. Do you know him at all intimately, Sabina?" 

 "I do not; but the girl that's with him beyond in the house is a cousin of my own, and I hear her talking about him. She does be saying that the like of him for nonsensical goings on she never seen. She—" 

 "Thank you," said Meldon.  "I don't want to hear your cousin's views of Mr. Simpkins' domestic arrangements. She's red-haired, if she's the girl that opened the door to me a while ago, and I never knew one of her colour that spoke the truth." 

 Sabina was loyal to her family. She resented Meldon's remark. 

 "If you were to put me on my oath," she said, "I wouldn't call the hair that's on your own head black, nor yet yellow." 

 "My hair," said Meldon, "is what's called auburn; and in any case I have more strength of character than to be driven into untruthfulness by the colour of my hair. Did you say it was Dr. O'Donoghue was inside with Mr. Doyle?" 

 "It is," said Sabina. 

 "I suppose, now, he isn't particularly fond of Mr. Simpkins either." 

 Sabina grinned broadly. 

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