The doorkeeper hesitated.
"Night of our last committee," he whispered finally.
"Oh, there's nothing in it," said the watchmaker reassuringly. He had not a letter in his pocket.
The doorkeeper opened his mouth to speak, but seeing his wife approaching, he shut it again and busied himself with his meal.
"What was the letter, Ned?"
"Oh, about the procession," he answered.
"Then you got it too late. Who was it from?"
"If you'd give us the tea," he broke out roughly, "and let the damned letter alone, it 'ud be a deal better."
"La, you needn't fly out at a woman so," said Mrs. Evans. "It ain't the way to treat his wife, is it, mister?"
"Mister" gallantly reproved his friend, but pleaded that they were both weary, and weary legs made short tempers. Giving them the tea, she left them to themselves; her work was not finished till three small children were safely in bed.