"Getting late, and we're early folks," said Plunkett, glancing round the untidy kitchen. "Should have thought—she might ha' put things a bit straight,—" in an undertone, as he noted the supper things still unwashed on the table. His mutter was audible, and Mrs. Plunkett's face gloomed over.
"I'll clear away," said Marigold.
"No, you won't; it's time to go to bed, and I ain't going to have no more sitting up," said Mrs. Plunkett. "Them things can wait till morning."
"But—" began Marigold, and stopped.
"So good-night," said Mrs. Plunkett to Todd.
Todd smiled good-temperedly, rose slowly, lounged against the table for a few last words with Plunkett,—and failed to calculate his own weight. The loose leaf upon which he rested collapsed without warning, and the crockery thereupon descended to the floor with a startling crash. Todd nearly went down backwards, and a mass of broken china lay upon the ground.
"Oh!" Marigold exclaimed.
"There now!" said Plunkett. "If that had been put away—as it ought to ha' been—"
"Well now, I'm sure I'm very sorry. Didn't mean to do no harm," apologised Todd, regarding the ruin with mild amazement. "Why, the leaf o' the table couldn't ha' been properly fastened up."
"Shouldn't wonder! Nothing never is properly done in this house,—without Marigold has the doing of it," declared Plunkett.