“Be off with all that rubbish and let’s have tea,” he said crossly. “Why can’t it be ready when I come in?”
“You’re a bit earlier than usual, Richard,” said his wife; “but you’ll have it in no time now. The kettle’s on the boil.”
She made anxious signs to Bella to quicken her movements, for she saw that the farmer was in a bad humour. Things had not gone well at market.
“And what did you see at Lenham?” she asked, as she began to put the cups and saucers on the table.
“Nawthing,” answered Mr Greenways, staring at the fire.
“What did you hear then?” persisted his wife.
“Nawthing,” was the answer again.
Mother and daughter exchanged meaning looks. The farmer jerked his head impatiently round.
“What I want to see is summat to eat, and what I want to hear is no more questions till I’ve got it. So there!”
He thrust out his legs, pushed his hands deep down in his pockets, and with his chin sunk on his breast sat there a picture of moody discontent.