"Wot's that?" enquired Mrs. Bindle.
"Merely a sort o' casual remark that none of us ain't puttin' back the clock."
Mrs. Bindle sniffed disdainfully, and busied herself with preparations for tea.
"Why didn't you tell me before that Millikins was comin'?" he enquired.
"Because you're never in as any other decent husband is."
He recognised the portents and held his peace.
When Mrs. Bindle was busy, her temper had a tendency to be on what Bindle called "the short side," and then even her favourite hymn, "Gospel Bells," frequently failed to stem the tide of her wrath.
"Ain't we goin' to 'ave tea in the parlour?" he enquired presently, as Mrs. Bindle smoothed the cloth over the kitchen table.
"No, we're not," she snapped, thinking it unnecessary to add that Millie had particularly requested that she might have it "in your lovely kitchen," because she was "one of the family."
Although Bindle infinitely preferred the kitchen to that labyrinth of furniture and knick-knacks known as the parlour, he felt that the occasion demanded the discomfort consequent upon ceremony. He was, however, too wise to criticise the arrangement; for Mrs. Bindle's temper and tongue were of a known sharpness that counselled moderation.