“Geoff,” said Spike wearily, “I cracked that milk jug last night, but you don’t have to sit starin’ at it that way, an’ me dyin’ of hunger by inches!”

“My humble apologies!” said Ravenslee, wresting his gaze from a certain curl and fixing it upon the turkey again.  “I’m a little—­er—­distracted to-night, it seems.”

“Oh, Gee!” said Spike in a hopeless tone, “now Hermy’s gone an’ filled my cup with milk.”

“Why, boy dear, so I have!” she confessed, with a rueful laugh, and her cheeks were very pink as she rectified her mistake.

“Are you distracted too, then?” demanded Spike.

“No, I—­I don’t think so—­no, no—­of course I’m not!  I—­I was just—­thinking, that’s all!”

“Not about tea, I reckon!  Say, what’s gettin’ you two, anyway?”

“Arthur,” said she serenely, as she passed his tea, “please fetch some more hot water.”

Spike sighed, rose, and taking the jug, went upon his mission.

“And how do you like Mulligan’s, Mr. Geoffrey?” enquired Hermione, regarding him with her calm, level eyes.

“Very much,” he answered, “I like it better and better.  I think—­no, I’m sure I would rather be in Mulligan’s than anywhere else in the world.”

“Oh!  Why?”

Down went carving knife and fork, and leaning toward her he answered:  “Because in Mulligan’s, among many other wonders, I have found something more beautiful and far more wonderful than I ever dreamed of finding.”

“In Mulligan’s?” she asked, looking her amazement.

“In Mulligan’s,” he answered gravely.  Now here, all at once, her glance wavered and sank before his.

“What do you mean?” she enquired, staring into her cup.

“Shall I tell you?”

“Yes—­no!” she murmured hastily and a little breathlessly, as Spike reentered, and paused, jug in hand, to stare.

“What—­haven’t you served Hermy—­yet?” he enquired in an injured tone.

“Certainly I have,” answered Ravenslee, “here it is, you see—­all ready!”

“Only you forgot t’ hand it t’ her, and she forgot t’ take it.  Well, say—­for hungry folks you two are the limit!”

“‘Man doth not live by bread alone,’ boy; we were talking,” said Ravenslee, handing Hermione her plate.

“You said you liked milk and sugar, didn’t you, Mr. Geoffrey?”

“Holy Gee!” murmured Spike.

“Milk and sugar, thank you,” said Ravenslee, heedful of her deepened colour.

“Geoff,” enquired Spike gently, “if I was to hang on to that drumstick, d’ ye suppose you might be able to hack it off for me—­some day?”

“My Arthur,” said Ravenslee, plying knife and fork energetically, “’tis done—­behold it!”

“But surely,” said Hermione, glancing up suddenly, “surely you don’t—­like Mulligan’s, Mr. Geoffrey?”

“Like it, Miss Hermione?  I—­abominate it!”

“Oh!”

“Say, Geoff,” mourned Spike, “don’t I get any stuffin’ after all?”