Did instinct whisper, a pair of depopulators had no business in a house with multipliers twain?
The breastplate is no armour against a female tongue; and Catherine ran infinite pins and needles of speech into them. In a word, when Margaret came down stairs, she found the kitchen swept of heroes.
Martin, old and stiff, had retreated no farther than the street, and with the honours of war: for he had carried off his baggage, a stool; and sat on it in the air.
Margaret saw he was out in the sun; but was not aware he was a fixture in that luminary. She asked for Denys. “Good, kind Denys; he will be right pleased to see me about again.”
Catherine, wiping a bowl with now superfluous vigour, told her Denys was gone to his friends in Burgundy. “And high time, Hasn't been anigh them this three years, by all accounts.”
“What, gone without bidding me farewell?” said Margaret, uplifting two tender eyes like full-blown violets.
Catherine reddened. For this new view of the matter set her conscience pricking her.
But she gave a little toss and said, “Oh, you were asleep at the time: and I would not have you wakened.”
“Poor Denys,” said Margaret, and the dew gathered visibly on the open violets.
Catherine saw out of the corner of her eye, and without taking a bit of open notice, slipped off and lavished hospitality and tenderness on the surviving depopulator.