Thus they sat like two enemies, forced to civility by the circumstances of sitting at the same table, and together ate, as if it choked them, their unblessed bread. "Shall I help you to some soup?" asked Mr. Scarsdale, and Horace made a stubborn bow and said, "Thank you." Neither spoke the other's name, neither even looked in the other's face--yet, by that strange magic of antagonism, which is as strong as love, were aware, instinctively, of every movement, almost of every sentiment, which influenced each other's conduct for the moment. But they had this little duel all to themselves--Susan, dulled by habit, and knowing that it had always been so, observed it not--Peggy, behind her master's chair, saw everything, and said nothing. Sometimes, indeed, an acute observer might have noticed that the faithful servant set down something on the table with an unnecessary emphasis, which answered, instead of words, to give her impatience vent, and which her master never failed to notice. Peggy, too, did not hesitate to interfere in the business of the table--to remark that Mr. Horace did not eat, and to recommend a particular dish to Miss Susan. Peggy's dialect was rather a remarkable one, and difficult to identify. She was a North-countrywoman by birth, but had lived in many districts of England, and had taken up, with great impartiality and candour of mind, their different manners of speech. But Mr. Scarsdale, who had killed all natural utterance in his children, had no power over Peggy; he never even tried to restrain her. Her discourse ran on a cheerful chorus during the whole solemn period of dinner; and this it was, more perhaps than anything else, which prevented a positive outbreak between the father and the son. "Young Master Roger, Miss Susan, dear, he's agoin' hoam," said Peggy; "he's got father and mother livin' _after_ all, as I hear say, and none so poorly off neither, for all his goin' off in a despair wi' talk o' 'listin'. Natur's a mystery, that's for certain--to turn off a manchild upon a godfayther, and rather to 'list nor to go hoam! I dunno know which is worst if ye ask me. Stewed chicken, master, and done perfect, though I say it as should not; but I'm none so pleased with the peatoes. I'll not have no more from the mill--they're agoin' in the disease. Wine?--this very minute, if I had the keys." Mr. Scarsdale brought forth the keys from his pocket; and, totally regardless of Peggy's monologue, which ran on in further gossip, broke the silence of the table in his own person--a most portentous and unusual incident. He spoke without either addressing or looking at anyone, though it was, in fact, a question which he asked. "There is, I believe," observed Mr. Scarsdale, "a spare bedroom in the house?" Peggy did not hear for the first moment, being taken aback by the unusual event; and Susan said, timidly, "Yes, papa," taking the remark to herself.