eanwhile with great assiduity, hoping to prepare
herself for David's questions; however, she soon found she could not do
that. She could only get familiar with the arrangements of her book;
what David might ask or might say, it was impossible to guess.

Meantime Judy's disagreeable attentions continued.

"Why do you not eat your soup, Matilda?" Mrs. Lloyd asked one day. It
was Sunday of course; the day when the young folks dined with the old
ones.

"It is very hot, grandmamma."

"Hot? mine isn't hot. It is not hot at all; not _too_ hot."

"It is hot with pepper, I think."

"Pepper? There is not pepper enough in it."

Matilda thought that Mrs. Lloyd's palate and her own perhaps perceived
pepper differently. But when the first course was served and Matilda
had taken curry, of which she was very fond, this was again hot; so
sharp, in fact, that she could not eat it.

"What's the matter?" said Mrs. Lloyd,--"pepper there too?"

"It is very hot, ma'am," said Matilda, while Judy burst out laughing.

"Curry always is hot, child," said the old lady. "Why do you take it,
if you do not like it?"

"I like it very much, grandmamma; only to-day--"

"It is not any hotter than usual, to-day. You should know what you want
before you take it. You can make your dinner of rice, then."

The rice was as hot as the rest of it, Matilda thought. She could not
eat; and she was hungry, for she had had a good walk and a brisk lesson
in Sunday school; but the fiery portion on her plate quite baffled her
hunger. She was never helped to pudding or pie more than once; she went
hungry to bed.

That did her no harm; but it happened again and again that, if not
starved, she was at least disappointed of eating something she liked,
or had something she did eat, spoiled by its seasoning. Very indulgent
as Mrs. Lloyd was about things in general, respecting table manners and
all the etiquette of graceful behaviour at meal times she was
exceedingly particular. She did not allow the young people to make any
ado about what they eat. She gave them liberty enough of choice, but
once the choice made, it was made; and mistakes were at the person's
own risk. So when Matilda's salad was very spicy with cinnamon, or her
ice cream excessively and unaccountably salt, or her oysters seemed to
have been under a heavy shower of red pepper, there was no resource but
to be quiet; unless she would have made a scene; as it was, she got
credit for being fanciful