admiringly at the tall manly figure and
bright resolute face. He liked to feel that Mr. Yorke was his friend,
and for the moment longed to tell him all his trouble, and see if he
could give him more help in bearing it than little Jessie could. But he
was shy of beginning; and before he had opened his lips, a plump little
old woman in a black silk dress and spotless apron appeared at the door,
and announced, 'Your lunch is ready, sir.'

_Lunch!_--so they were to dine late; and though the cold mutton was not
likely to prove a much greater dainty at six than at one, Cecil felt a
little pride and pleasure in keeping such grown-up hours.

In honour of the young guest, Mrs. Keeling had set out every small
luxury that either her lodger or she possessed; and there were poached
eggs, and gooseberries, and sardines, and honey, and pickles, and
gingerbread, and potted meat, arranged with great display upon the
table, while the bread and butter and cheese, as being altogether
ordinary, were exiled to a little sideboard behind Mr. Yorke's chair.

'Is there anything more you require, sir?' said the old dame before
withdrawing, in a complacent tone that seemed to say, What _could_ they
require when such a variety was before them?

'Thank you, let me see: would you like some mutton, Cecil?'

Mrs. Keeling almost frowned at this proposal. How could the good young
gentleman be so inconsiderate, she thought, as to propose to his visitor
for _lunch_ what was by and by to come up for _dinner_? She was quite
relieved, however, by Cecil's eager negative, and went off to her
kitchen well satisfied; while Mr. Yorke, after saying grace, proceeded
to do the honours of the repast.

'May I give you some pickles, Cecil?' he said mischievously. 'I don't
see anything to eat with them, so I suppose they are meant to form a
course by themselves.'

'They wouldn't be bad with bread and cheese,' rejoined Cecil, laughing;
'some of our seniors eat them with all sorts of things.'

'Well, you can try the combination if you like, but I don't see any
cheese; and oh, hulloa! there's no bread either. Will you ring the bell
while I help the eggs?'

'I see them--they're behind you--I'll get them,' and Cecil jumped up and
set down the bread, but, among the array of dishes which covered the
small table, could find no room for the butter or cheese.

'We can turn out the pickles, and the gooseberries too, for the
present,' said Mr. Yorke with a look of amusem