Parable was an amusing speaker, but on
previous visits had not myself noticed it. But this time he seemed
ten years younger than I had ever known him before; and during
dinner, while we were talking and laughing quite merry like, I had
the feeling more than once that people were meandering about
outside. I had just finished clearing away, and cook was making the
coffee, when there came a knock at the door.
"Who's that?" says Mr. Parable. "I am not at home to anyone."
"I'll see," I says. And on my way I slipped into the kitchen.
"Coffee for one, cook," I says, and she understood. Her cap and
apron were hanging behind the door. I flung them across to her, and
she caught them; and then I opened the front door.
They pushed past me without speaking, and went straight into the
parlour. And they didn't waste many words on him either.
"Where is she?" asked Miss Bulstrode.
"Where's who?" says Mr. Parable.
"Don't lie about it," said Miss Bulstrode, making no effort to
control herself. "The hussy you've been dining with?"
"Do you mean Mrs. Meadows?" says Mr. Parable.
I thought she was going to shake him.
"Where have you hidden her?" she says.
It was at that moment cook entered with the coffee.
If they had taken the trouble to look at her they might have had an
idea.
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