Had any of the children chanced to come into the room about that time, it would have been an unlucky visit for them.
When he sat down to breakfast, it was with a frown upon his brow, and a deep wrinkle between his eyes, caused, apparently, by the weight of the spectacles.
“Bridget never did make a good cup of coffee in her life,” he remarked.—“My dear,” he continued, turning to his wife, “I do wish you would take the trouble to go down once—only once—and show her how.”
Mrs. Crisp ventured to answer in a meek voice that she went down every morning. Peter had no reply—especially no thanks—to offer for this; but he took another sip, puckered up his lips as though he had swallowed a dose of medicine, and pushed the cup away from him.