"I should think I hadn't."
"Ye must pay me, and I'll give ye notice to leave," said Horrocleave, quickly, in a queer, quiet voice. The wrath was driven out of him. The mere apparition of Rachel had saved her husband.
A silence.
Rachel had disappeared. Then there was a distant tapping. Neither of the men spoke nor moved. They could hear the outer door open and light footfalls in the outer office.
"Anybody here?" It was Rachel's voice, timid.
"Come in, come in!" Horrocleave roared.
She entered, blushing, excusing herself, glancing from one to the other, and by her spotless Easter finery emphasizing the squalor of the den.
In a few minutes Horrocleave was saying to Rachel, rather apologetically—
"Louis and I are going to part company, Mrs. Fores. I can't keep him on. His wages are too high for me. It won't run to it. Th' truth is, I'm going to chuck this art business. It doesn't pay. Art, as they call it, 's no good in th' pottery trade."
Rachel said, "So that's what you wanted to see him about on a Sunday morning, is it, Mr. Horrocleave?"