At that moment a loud and peremptory rat-tat-tat sounded down the passage.
"Now, I wonder who that is." Mrs. Brunger put down her crochet upon the table and rose.
"Don't you bring anyone in here, mother," ordered Mr. Brunger, fearful that his evening was to be spoiled, as he began to mix the dominoes. There was no music so dear to his soul as their click-clack, as they brushed shoulders with one another.
Mrs. Brunger left the room and, carefully closing the door behind her, passed along the short passage and opened the door.
"I've come for my husband!"
On the doorstep stood Mrs. Bindle, grim as Fate. Her face was white, her eyes hard, and her mouth little more than indicated by a line of shadow between her closely pressed lips. The words seemed to strike Mrs. Brunger dumb.
"Your—your husband?" she repeated at length.
"Yes, my 'usband." Mrs. Bindle's diction was losing its purity and precision under the stress of great emotion. "I know 'e's here. Don't you deny it. I saw 'im come. Oh, you wicked woman!"
Mrs. Brunger blinked in her bewilderment. She was taken by surprise at the suddenness of the assault; but her temper was rising under this insulting and unprovoked attack.
"What's that you call me?" she demanded.