She shook her head at the contents, which consisted of a small, flabby-
looking meat pie in a tin dish, and two pale, flat mince tarts.
"It doesn't nourish you, dearie," complained Mary. "You could have
bought yourself a nice bit of meat with the same money."
"And you would have had all the trouble of cooking it," answered the
girl. "That only wants warming up."
"But I like cooking, you know, dearie," grumbled Mary. "There's no
interest in warming things up."
The girl laughed. "You don't have to go far for your fun," she said.
"I'll bring a sole next time; and you shall do it _au gratin_."
Mary put the indigestible-looking pasties into the oven, and almost
banged the door. Miss Ensor proceeded to lay the table. "How many, do
you think?" she asked. Mary was doubtful. She hoped that, it being
Christmas Day, they would have somewhere better to go.
"I passed old 'Bubble and Squeak,' just now, spouting away to three men
and a dog outside the World's End. I expect he'll turn up," thought Miss
Ensor. She laid for four, leaving space for more if need be.
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