It was poor Lucy upon whom the burden of the dinner cares fell, and she suffered a martyrdom. Oldroyd saw that she was troubled, but did not fully realise the cause, while the poor girl shivered and shrank, and turned now hot, now cold, as she read Rolph's contempt for the miserable fare. "Yes," said the Major to himself, "it's a mistake. She meant well, poor woman, but if she had given us a well-cooked steak how much better it would have been." Mrs Alleyne, behind her mask of smiles, also noted how Rolph's eye-glass was directed at the various dishes, and how his plate went away, time after time, with the viands scarcely tasted. She hated him with a bitter hatred, and felt full of rejoicing to see his annoyance with Glynne, whose calm, handsome face lit up and grew animated when Alleyne spoke to her, answering questions, questioning her in return, and telling her of his work during the past few days. The meal went on very slowly, and such success as attended it was due to Sir John and the major, the former devoting himself to his hostess, while the latter relieved poor little Lucy's breast of some of its burden of trouble. "Ah," he said once, out of sheer kindness, just after Rolph had laughed silently at a grievous mistake made by Eliza, who, in a violent perspiration with work and excitement, had dropped a dish in the second course, breaking it, and spreading a too tremulous cabinet pudding and its sauce upon the well--worn carpet. "Ah, a capital dinner, Miss Alleyne, only wanted one dish to have made it complete." "How can you be so unkind, Major Day!" said Lucy, in a low, choking voice; "the poor girl is so unused to company, and she could not help it." Major Day looked petrified. He had advanced his remark like a squadron to cover the rout of the cabinet pudding, and he was astounded by Lucy's flank movement, as she took his remark to refer to the maid. "My dear child," he stammered, "you mistake me." Poor Lucy could not contain herself. The vexations of the whole dinner which had been gathering within her now burst forth; and though she spoke to him in an undertone, her face was crimson, and it was all she could do to keep from bursting into a flood of tears. "It is so unkind of you," continued Lucy; "we are not used to having company. Moray did not think how difficult it would be for us to make proper preparations, and it is not our fault that everything is so bad." "My dear child!" whispered the major again. "You need not have added to my misery by calling it a capital dinner, and alluding to the dish."