She saw the action and cried out in consternation. "Oh," she cried. "Why, you can't hardly stand, and going off nowhere! Why, you jus' can't. You'll have to stop."
He asked wearily: "Stop! How can I stop?"
"Why, ten shillings. That'll be all right. Our Essie, you know—"
He could say no more than "Thank you. Thank you."
"You'll come right along. We're just sitting down to supper. No, I'll just tell them first."
He effected speech again as, with her last words, she went to the parlour door. "But deposit," he said, and recalled the phrase she had used. "Aren't you suspicious?"
"Why, that can't be helped," she smiled back at him. "Our Essie, you know, she'd never forgive me if I sent you off like you are. Jus' sit down."
He had scarcely taken a seat when she was back again and calling him from the threshold of the open parlour door. "That's all right. Come right along. You didn't give your name, did you?"
"Wriford," and he reached her where she stood smiling.
She turned within and announced him: "Well, here's our lodger. That's Mr. Bickers."