"Yah! Read it, she says, and knows I'm blind," said Hawker. "You artful minx, you want to read it yourself."
He took the letter up, and turned it over and over. He knew the seal, and shot a suspicious glance at her. Then, looking at her fixedly, he put it in his breastpocket, and buttoned up his coat.
"There!" he said. "I'll read it. Oh yes, believe me, I'll read it. You Jezebel!"
"You'd better eat your meat like a Christian man," she answered, "and not make such faces as them."
"Where's the man?" he asked.
"Outside, I suppose."
"Tell him I want the gig. I'm going out for a drive. A pleasure drive, you know. All down the lane, and back again. Cut along and tell him before I do you a mischief."
She saw he was in one of his evil humours, when nothing was to be done with him, and felt very uneasy. She went and ordered the gig, and when he had finished breakfast, he came out to the door.
"You'd best take your big coat," she said, "else you'll be getting cold, and be in a worse temper than you are,—and that's bad enough, Lord knows, for a poor woman to put up with."
"How careful she is!" said Hawker. "What care she takes of the old man! I've left you ten thousand pounds in my will, ducky. Good-bye."