Maggie was about to reply that nothing would induce her to accept such
a position, when a quick thought darted through her mind. She could
scarcely hope to make anything of her mother, for, alack and alas!
Mrs. Howland was one of those weak characters who slip away from you
even as you try to grasp them. But Martin, with his terrible vulgarity
and awful pleasantry, was at least fairly strong.

"Mr. Martin," said Maggie then, "instead of going in to breakfast with
mother, will you take me to some restaurant and give me a good meal,
and let me talk to you?"

"Well, now," said Martin, chuckling, "you _are_ a girl! You have
cheek! I am not a man to waste my money, and breakfast with
Little-sing won't cost me anything."

"But under the circumstances you will waste a little money in order to
oblige me?" said Maggie.

"There now, I admire your cheek. So be it. You don't deserve anything
from me, for a ruder 'ittle dirl than you were yesterday to poor
Bo-peep could not have been found in the length and breadth of
England."

"You could scarcely expect me to be pleased, sir. The news was broken
to me very suddenly, and I was tired after my long journey, too."

"Yes; and you vented your spite on me, on poor old Bo-peep, who has
the kindest heart in Christendom."

"I may have said some things that I regret," said Maggie; "but, at any
rate, I had the night to think matters over, and if you give me some
breakfast I can talk to you."

"I will take you to Harrison's for breakfast," said Martin. "You'll
get a topper there, I can tell you--eggs, bacon, kidneys, liver,
game-pie, cocoa, coffee, tea, chocolate; anything and everything you
fancy, and the best marmalade in London."

Maggie felt rather hungry, and when the pair entered Harrison's she
was not displeased at the liberal supply of food which her future
stepfather ordered. He pretended to hate the aristocracy, as he called
them, and poor Maggie could certainly never claim this distinction in
her own little person. Nevertheless, she was entirely superior to
Martin, and he felt a sort of pride in her as she walked up the long
restaurant by his side.

"Now, waiter," he said to the man who approached to take orders, "you
look slippy. This young 'oman and me, we want a real comfortable,
all-round, filling meal. You give us the best the house contains; and
look slippy, I say."

The waiter did look "slippy," whatever that word might imply, and
Martin proceeded to treat Ma