“How do you manage, with the rations, Mrs. Hubback?” she said.
“Rations?” said Mrs. Hubback. “They don’t bother us, miss, and we don’t bother them. I’m not going to eat that nasty marge at my time of life, nor that nasty bacon neither, nor them allocation eggs as they call them. Old-age-pension eggs I call ’em. We manage all right, miss. You see, we all know each other. Ring if you want some more tea, sir.”
She removed her bulky form and Miss Arbuthnot poured herself some tea which was hot and fragrant and laced it with the rich milk. Mr. Wickham poured himself a drink from the large teapot into the large cup and drank it off, foam and all.
“That’s very ingenious,” said Miss Arbuthnot.
“You don’t know Mother Hubback,” said Mr. Wickham. “You see that coffee urn? Fine old Sheffield plate
