"He?" 'Lizabeth's attitude stiffened with suspicion of the truth.
"William, I mean; an' a sorry day it was I agreed to come."
"William?"
"My husband. I'm Mrs. William Transom."
"Come along to the house." 'Lizabeth turned abruptly and led the way.
Mrs. William Transom gathered up her carpet-bag and bedraggled skirts and followed, sobbing still, but in diminuendo. Inside the kitchen 'Lizabeth faced round on her again.
"So you'm William's wife."
"I am; an' small comfort to say so, seein' this is how I'm served.
Reely, now, I'm not fit to be seen."
"Bless the woman, who cares here what you look like? Take off those fal-lals, an' sit in your petticoat by the fire, here; you ain't wet through—on'y your feet; and here's a dry pair o' stockings, if you've none i' the bag. You must be possessed, to come trampin' over High Compton in them gingerbread things." She pointed scornfully at the stranger's boots.
Mrs. William Transom, finding her notions of gentility thus ridiculed, acquiesced.