She had made no mention of the time of Millie's arrival, and Bindle decided not to take the risk of enquiring. He contented himself with hovering about, getting under Mrs. Bindle's feet, as she expressed it, and managing to place himself invariably in the exact spot she was making for.
If he sat on a chair, Mrs. Bindle seemed suddenly to discover that it required dusting. If he took refuge in a corner, Mrs. Bindle promptly dived into it with an "Oh! get out of my way, do," and he would do a swift side-step, only to make for what was the high-road of her next strategic move.
"Why don't you go out like you always do?" she demanded at one point.
"Because Millikins is comin'," he replied simply.
"Yes, you can stay at home for—when somebody's coming," she amended, "but other days you leave me alone for weeks together."
"But when I do stay at 'ome you 'ustles me about like a stray goat," he complained, only just succeeding in avoiding a sudden dash on Mrs. Bindle's part.
"That's right, go on. Blame everything on to me," she cried, as she made a swift dive for the stove, and proceeded to poke the fire as if determined to break the fire-brick at the back. "If you'd only been a proper 'usband to me I might have been different."
Bindle slipped across the kitchen and stepped out into the passage. Here he remained until Mrs. Bindle suddenly threw open the kitchen door.
"What are you standing there for?" she demanded angrily.
"So as not to get in the way," was the meek reply.