A Ring of Rubies by L.T. Meade — Read

I came down-stairs the next morning dressed in my best brown cashmere. I had a neat white frill round my throat, and my hair was dressed with attention. I looked smart for me, and I felt certain that George would notice this fact, and begin to make himself disagreeable. The meal that morning was particularly appetising. I myself had seen to this. I had supplemented our inefficient maid-of-all-work's efforts. I had boiled the porridge myself, and took care that it was thick, but not too thick, and that it was smooth in substance and admirably done. I had also made the toast; and that delicate brown toast, crisp and thin, was certain to meet with my somewhat fastidious father's approval. The coffee, too, was strong, and the milk which was to add to its flavour was thoroughly well boiled. While my father drank his fragrant coffee, and munched that thin crisp toast, good humour sat upon his brow, his deep-set and somewhat fierce eyes glanced at me complacently. He made a remark which I was almost certain he would make --

"It is a good thing to have you back again, Rose. I do not need you to tell me, but I am quite certain that we do not owe this breakfast to Bridget."