Having poured out the contents of the saucepan, Mrs. Bindle went to the sink and filled the vessel with water. Carrying it across the kitchen, she banged it down on the stove. Opening the front, and picking up the poker, she gave the fire several unnecessary jabs.
"Wot did Sandy want?" enquired Bindle as he got to work upon his supper.
"Don't talk to me," snapped Mrs. Bindle. "You'd try a saint, you would, insulting the minister in that way."
"Insultin'! Me!" cried Bindle in surprise. "Why, I only cheer-o'd 'im."
"You'll never learn 'ow to behave," stormed Mrs. Bindle, losing her temper and her aitches. "Look at you now, all dressed up and leaving me alone."
Bindle was wearing his best clothes, for some reason known only to himself.
"Anyone would think you was goin' to a weddin'," continued Mrs. Bindle.
"Not again," said Bindle cheerfully. "Wot was ole Scotch-an'-Soda after?" he enquired.
"When you ask me a proper question, I'll give you a proper answer," announced Mrs. Bindle.
"Oh, Lord!" said Bindle with mock resignation. "Well, wot did the Reverend MacAndrew want?"