Again Daniel did not answer, but his smile, as Azuba interpreted it, was provokingly triumphant. Her lips closed tightly.
“I can't get any supper to-night, Laban,” she declared firmly. “I just can't. I'm awful sorry, bein' as you've just got home, but you'll have to forgive me. I'll explain when you and me are alone.”
“Explain? Explain what?”
“Why—why—” with another look, almost vindictive, at the grinning captain, “what my reason is. But I can't tell you now—I can't.”
“That's all right. I don't care about explainin's. You can explain any old time; just now, me and the cap'n want our supper.”
“I shan't get your supper. I told Cap'n Dott I couldn't before I went upstairs. I'm goin' out.”
“No, no, you ain't. Quit your foolin', old lady. I'm gettin' emptier every minute. So are you, ain't you, Cap'n?”
Daniel hesitated, looked at his housekeeper's face, and burst into a roar of laughter. That laugh decided the question. Azuba rose.
“Don't talk to me,” she snapped. “I'm sorry, but it serves you right, Laban, for comin' home without sendin' me word; and just at the wrong time, too. Give me that bonnet.”
She reached for the bonnet, but her husband reached it first. “'Tain't much of a bonnet, anyhow, Zuby,” he said. “Now I look at it closer I don't think it's becomin' to your style of complexion. Some day I'll buy you another.”