But his face grew sober as he added, in a lower but still loud voice—
"I was thinking of my wife, not of yours. Folk say she was a rum un."
"She was a splendid woman," said the tailor. "She weighed twice as much as I do, and her fist—" Here he doubled up his own slender hand, laid it on the table, and stared at it, with his mouth full of muffin. Then, with a sigh, he added, "She was rather too much for me, sometimes. She was a splendid woman, though, when she was sober."
"And what was she when she was drunk?"
This grated a little on the tailor's feelings, and he answered with spirit—-
"A match for you or any other man, Mr. Kitely."
The bookseller said, "Bravo, Spelt!" and said no more.
They went on with their tea for some moments in silence.
"Well, princess!" said Mr. Kitely at last, giving an aimless poke to the conversation.