CHAPTER II.
Excursions In Vulgarity.
A violent dispute with the cabman set that disturbed heart yet more wildly thumping in Mrs. Chater's bosom; the sight of her husband uneasily mooning in the dining-room heated her wrath to wilder bubblings.
Mr. Chater—a 'oly dam' terror in Mincing Lane, if his office-boy may be quoted—was an astonishingly mild man in his own house.
He said brightly, noting with a shiver the gusty stress of his wife's deportment: “You drove up, my dear?—And quite right, too,” he hastily added, upon a sudden fear that his remark might be interpreted as reproach.
“How do you know?” Mrs. Chater's nose went into the brandy-and-soda.
“I saw you from the window,” her husband beamed. He repeated, “The window,” and nervously pointed at it. There was a strained atmosphere in the room, and he was a little frightened.
“Oh!” Out from the brandy-and-soda came the nose; down went the glass with an emphasising bang: “Oh!”
Mr. Chater gave a startled little jump. He saw, immediately he had spoken, the misfortune into which his admission had plunged him; the bang of the glass twanged his already apprehensive nerves, and he jerked out, “Certainly, my dear,” without any clear grasp as to what he was affirming.