Her appearance was extraordinary. Her portly figure shook; her eyes were red; her bonnet, rakishly poised over the left eye, had dragged askew the "front" under it, as though its wearer had parted her hair on one side in a distracted moment. A sob rent her bosom as she entered.
"My poor soul!" murmured Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys, "you are in trouble."
Mrs. Buzza tried to speak, but dropped into a chair and nodded instead.
"What is the matter?"
"It's—it's him."
"The Admiral?"
Mrs. Buzza mopped her eyes and nodded again.
"What has he done now?"
"S-said his bu-bu-breakfast was cold this mo-horning, and p-pitched the bu-bu-breakfast set over the quay-door," she moaned. "Oh! w-what shall I do?"
"Leave him!"