In five minutes Mr. Grey came down “dressed,”—­by the use of which word was implied the fact that he had shaken his neckcloth, washed his hands and face, and put on his slippers.  It was understood in the household that, though half-past six was the hour named for dinner, half-past seven was a much more probable time.  Mr. Grey pertinaciously refused to have it changed.

“Stare super vias antiquas,” he had stoutly said when the proposition had been made to him; by which he had intended to imply that, as during the last twenty years he had been compelled to dine at half-past six instead of six, he did not mean to be driven any farther in the same direction.  Consequently his cook was compelled to prepare his dinner in such a manner that it might be eaten at one hour or the other, as chance would have it.

The dinner passed without much conversation other than incidental to Mr. Grey’s wants and comforts.  His daughter knew that he had been at the office for eight hours, and knew also that he was not a young man.  Every kind of little cosseting was, therefore, applied to him.  There was a pheasant for dinner, and it was essentially necessary, in Dolly’s opinion, that he should have first the wing, quite hot, and then the leg, also hot, and that the bread-sauce should be quite hot on the two occasions.  For herself, if she had had an old crow for dinner it would have been the same thing.  Tea and bread-and-butter were her luxuries, and her tea and bread-and-butter had been enjoyed three hours ago.  “I declare I think that, after all, the leg is the better joint of the two.”

“Then why don’t you have the two legs?”

“There would be a savor of greediness in that, though I know that the leg will go down,—­and I shouldn’t then be able to draw the comparison.  I like to have them both, and I like always to be able to assert my opinion that the leg is the better joint.  Now, how about the apple-pudding?  You said I should have an apple-pudding.”  From which it appeared that Mr. Grey was not superior to having the dinner discussed in his presence at the breakfast-table.  The apple-pudding came, and was apparently enjoyed.  A large portion of it was put between two plates.  “That’s for Mrs. Grimes,” suggested Mr. Grey.  “I am not quite sure that Mrs. Grimes is worthy of it.”  “If you knew what it was to be left without a shilling of your husband’s wages you’d think yourself worthy.”  When the conversation about the pudding was over Mr. Grey ate his cheese, and then sat quite still in his arm-chair over the fire while the things were being taken away.  “I declare I think he is the wickedest man the world has ever produced,” said Mr. Grey as soon as the door was shut, thus showing by the repetition of the words he had before used that his mind had been intent on Mr. Scarborough rather than on the pheasant.

“Why don’t you have done with them?”

“That’s all very well; but you wouldn’t have done with them if you had known them all your life.”