"Oh, you naughty old thing!" she was crying.
At the sight of his wife, Mr. Stiffson's jaw dropped and the coffee-cup slipped from his nerveless hands. It struck the edge of the table and emptied its contents down the opening of his low-cut waistcoat.
At the sight of the abject terror on Mr. Stiffson's face, Cissie Boye ceased to clap her hands and, turning her head, met Mrs. Stiffson's uncompromising stare and Bindle's appreciative grin.
"Jabez!" It was like the uninflected accents of doom.
Mr. Stiffson shivered; that was the only indication he gave of having heard. With unblinking eyes he continued to gaze at his wife as if fascinated, the empty coffee-cup resting on his knees.
"Jabez!" repeated Mrs. Stiffson. "I thought I told you to wear your tweed mixture to-day."
Mrs. Stiffson had a fine sense of the dramatic! The unexpectedness of the remark caused Mr. Stiffson to blink his eyes like a puzzled owl, without however removing them from his wife, or changing their expression.
Cissie Boye laughed, Bindle grinned.
"Won't you sit down?" It was Cissie Boye who spoke.
"Silence, hussy!" There was no anger in Mrs. Stiffson's voice; it was just a command and an expression of opinion.