“Yes,” sobbed Meg despairingly.
“Tell me quick, then. Don’t cry. I can bear anything better than that. Out with it, love.”
“The . . .The jelly won’t jell and I don’t know what to do!”
John Brooke laughed then as he never dared to laugh afterward, and the derisive Scott smiled involuntarily as he heard the hearty peal, which put the finishing stroke to poor Meg’s woe.
“Is that all? Fling it out of the window, and don’t bother any more about it. I’ll buy you quarts if you want it, but for heaven’s sake don’t have hysterics, for I’ve brought Jack Scott home to dinner, and . . .”
John got no further, for Meg cast him off, and clasped her hands with a tragic gesture as she fell into a chair, exclaiming in a tone of mingled indignation, reproach, and dismay . . .
“A man to dinner, and everything in a mess! John Brooke, how could you do such a thing?”
“Hush, he’s in the garden! I forgot the confounded jelly, but it can’t be helped now,” said John, surveying the prospect with an anxious eye.
“You ought to have sent word, or told me this morning, and you ought to have remembered how busy I was,” continued Meg petulantly, for even turtledoves will peck when ruffled.
“I didn’t know it this morning, and there was no time to send word, for I met him on the way out. I never thought of asking leave, when you have always told me to do as I liked. I never tried it before, and hang me if I ever do again!” added John, with an aggrieved air.
“I should hope not! Take him away at once. I can’t see him, and there isn’t any dinner.”
“Well, I like that! Where’s the beef and vegetables I sent home, and the pudding you promised?” cried John, rushing to the larder.
“I hadn’t time to cook anything. I meant to dine at Mother’s. I’m sorry, but I was so busy,” and Meg’s tears began again.
John was a mild man, but he was human, and after a long day’s work to come home tired, hungry, and hopeful, to find a chaotic house, an empty table, and a cross wife was not exactly conductive to repose of mind or manner. He restrained himself however, and the little squall would have blown over, but for one unlucky word.
“It’s a scrape, I acknowledge, but if you will lend a hand, we’ll pull through and have a good time yet. Don’t cry, dear, but just exert yourself a bit, and fix us up something to eat. We’re both as hungry as hunters, so we shan’t mind what it is. Give us the cold meat, and bread and cheese. We won’t ask for jelly.”
He meant it to be a good-natured joke, but that one word sealed his fate. Meg thought it was too cruel to hint about her sad failure, and the last atom of patience vanished as he spoke.
“You must get yourself out of the scrape as you can. I’m too used up to `exert’ myself for anyone. It’s like a man to propose a bone and vulgar bread and cheese for company. I won’t have anything of the sort in my house. Take that Scott up to Mother’s, and tell him I’m away, sick, dead, anything. I won’t see him, and you two can laugh at me and my jelly as much as you like. You won’t have anything else here.” And having delivered her defiance all on one breath, Meg cast away her pinafore and precipitately left the field to bemoan herself in her own room.
What those two creatures did in her absence, she never knew, but Mr. Scott was not taken `up to Mother’s’, and when Meg descended, after they had strolled away together, she found traces of a promiscuous lunch which filled her with horror. Lotty reported that they had eaten “a much, and greatly laughed, and the master bid her throw away all the sweet stuff, and hide the pots.”
Meg longed to go and tell Mother, but a sense of shame at her own short comings, of loyalty to John, “who might be cruel, but nobody should know it,” restrained her, and after a summary cleaning up, she dressed herself prettily, and sat down to wait for John to come and be forgiven.