"Peace be unto this house!" observed the curate as he crossed the threshold, for Mrs Forster's character was notorious; then laughing at his own wit with a Ha, ha, ha!
"He, he, he!"
"Good morning, Mr Forster, how is your good lady?"
"She's safe moored at last," interrupted Mr Hilton.
"Who?" demanded the curate, with surprise.
"Why the sloop, to be sure."
"Oh! I thought you meant the lady—Ha, ha, ha!"
"He, he, he!"
"Won't you sit down, gentlemen?" said Nicholas, showing the way from the shop into the parlour, where they found Mrs Forster, who had just come in from the back premises.
"Hope you're well, Mr Curate," sharply observed the lady, who could not be persuaded, even from respect for the cloth, to be commonly civil—"take a chair; it's all covered with dust; but that Betsy is such an idle slut!"