"I shall have to see about getting some clothes to-morrow, Mrs. Bunting." Again he looked at her appealingly.
"I expect you’d like to wash your hands now, sir. And would you tell me what you’d like for supper? We haven’t much in the house."
"Oh, anything’ll do," he said hastily. "I don’t want you to go out for me. It’s a cold, foggy, wet night, Mrs. Bunting. If you have a little bread-and-butter and a cup of milk I shall be quite satisfied."
"I have a nice sausage," she said hesitatingly.
It was a very nice sausage, and she had bought it that same morning for Bunting’s supper; as to herself, she had been going to content herself with a little bread and cheese. But now—wonderful, almost, intoxicating thought—she could send Bunting out to get anything they both liked. The ten sovereigns lay in her hand full of comfort and good cheer.
"A sausage? No, I fear that will hardly do. I never touch flesh meat," he said; "it is a long, long time since I tasted a sausage, Mrs. Bunting."
"Is it indeed, sir?" She hesitated a moment, then asked stiffly, "And will you be requiring any beer, or wine, sir?"
A strange, wild look of lowering wrath suddenly filled Mr. Sleuth’s pale face.
"Certainly not. I thought I had made that quite clear, Mrs. Bunting. I had hoped to hear that you were an abstainer"
"So I am, sir, lifelong. And so’s Bunting been since we married." She might have said, had she been a woman given to make such confidences, that she had
