We even had wine, a half-glass of old darkish sherry each.
Miss Seaton enjoyed and indulged an enormous appetite. Her example and
a natural schoolboy voracity soon overcame my nervousness of her, even
to the extent of allowing me to enjoy to the best of my bent so rare a
"spread." Seaton was singularly modest; the greater part of his meal
consisted of almonds and raisins, which he nibbled surreptitiously and
as if he found difficulty in swallowing them.
I don't mean that Miss Seaton "conversed" with me. She merely scattered
trenchant remarks and now and then twinkled a baited question over my
head. But her face was like a dense and involved accompaniment to her
talk. She presently dropped the "Mr.," to my intense relief, and called
me now Withers, or Wither, now Smithers, and even once towards the
close of the meal distinctly Johnson, though how on earth my name
suggested it, or whose face mine had reanimated in memory, I cannot
conceive.
"And is Arthur a good boy at school, Mr. Wither?" was one of her many
questions. "Does he please his masters? Is he first in his class? What
does the reverend Dr.
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