"Why do you look like that?" she persisted. "Do you know?"
"Eh?... Oh, no, no; of course not.... I—I think I saw your mother goin' out of the gate as I came across lots. She—I presume likely she was goin' to the store or somewhere."
"She didn't tell me she was going. Was she alone?"
"Why—why, no; I think—seems to me Mr. Phillips was with her."
For the next few minutes the captain devoted his entire attention to the letter he was writing. He did not look up, but he was quite conscious that her eyes were boring him through and through. During the rest of his stay she was curt and cool. When he went she did not bid him good-by.
So the fuse was burning merrily and the inevitable explosion came three days later. The scene was this time not the Fair Harbor office, but the Minot kitchen. Judah was out and the captain was alone, reading the Item. The fire in the range was a new one and the kitchen was very warm, so Sears had opened the outer door in order to cool off a bit. It was a beautiful late October forenoon.
The captain was deep in the Item's account of the recent wreck on Peaked Hill Bars. A British bark had gone ashore there and the crew had been rescued with difficulty. He was himself dragged, metaphorically speaking, from the undertow by a voice just behind him.
"Well, you're takin' it easy, ain't you, Cap'n Sears?" observed Mrs. Tidditt. "I wish I didn't have nothin' to do but set and read the news."
"Oh, good mornin', Esther," said the captain. He was not particularly glad to see her. "What's wrong; anything?"
"Nothin' but my batch of gingerbread, and a quart of molasses'll save that. Can you spare it? Oh, don't get up. I know where Judah keeps it; I've been here afore."