Part 28 (2/2)

He took up his knife to cut the chop. As he did so Sylvia's face turned white.

”No, thank you,” she said. ”It really so happens that I don't want it.

Please eat it all. And see,” she continued, with a little pride, lifting the cover of a dish which stood in front of her own plate; ”I have been teaching myself to cook; you cannot blame me for making the best of my materials. How nice these fried potatoes look! Have some, won't you, father?”

”You must have used something to fry them in,” said Mr. Leeson, an angry frown on his face. ”Well, well,” he added, mollified by the delicious smell, which could not but gratify his hungry feelings-”all right; I will take a few.”

Sylvia piled his plate. She played with a few potatoes herself, and Mr.

Leeson ate in satisfied silence.

”Really they are nice,” he said. ”I have enjoyed my dinner. I do not know when I made such a luxurious meal. I shall not need any supper to-night.”

”But I shall,” said Sylvia stoutly. ”There will be supper at nine o'clock as usual, and I hope you will be present, father.”

”Well, my dear, have something very plain. I am absolutely satisfied for twenty-four hours. And you, darling-did you make a good meal?”

”Yes, thank you, father.”

”There were a great many potatoes cooked. I see they are all finished.”

”Yes, father.”

”I am now going back to my sitting-room. I shall be engaged for some hours. What are you going to do, Sylvia?”

”I shall go out presently for a walk.”

”Is it not rather dangerous for you to wander about in such deep snow?”

”Oh, I like it, father; I enjoy it. I could not possibly stay at home.”

”Very well, my dear child. You are a good girl. But, Sylvia dear, it strikes me that we had better not have any more frying done; it must consume a great quant.i.ty of fuel. Now, that chop might have been boiled in a small saucepan, and it really would have been quite as nutritious.

And, my dear, there would have been the broth-the liquor, I mean-that it had been boiled in; it would have made an excellent soup with rice in it. I have been lately compiling some recipes for living what is called the unluxurious life. When I have completed my little recipes I will hand them down to posterity. I shall publish them. I quite imagine that they will have a large sale, and may bring me in some trifling returns-eh, Sylvia?”

Sylvia made no answer.

”My dear,” said her father suddenly, ”I have noticed of late that you are a little extravagant in the amount of coals you use. It is your only extravagance, my dear child, so I will not say much about it.”

”But, father, I don't understand. What do you mean?”

”There is smoke-_smoke_ issuing from the kitchen chimney at times when there ought to be none,” said Mr. Leeson in a severe voice. ”But there, dear, I won't keep you now. I expect to have a busy afternoon. I am feeling so nicely after our simple little lunch, my dear daughter.”

Mr. Leeson touched Sylvia's smooth cheek with his lips, went into the sitting-room, and shut the door.

”The fire must be quite out by now,” she said to herself. ”Poor, poor father! Oh dear! oh dear! if he discovers that Jasper is here I shall be done for. Now that I know the difference which Jasper's presence makes, I really could not live without her.”

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