Harry Fairfield here sauntered into the kitchen, rolling unspoken thoughts in his mind. The conversation subsided at his approach; Dulcibella made her courtesy and withdrew, and said he to Tom, who was entering with the ink-bottle—
“Tom, run out, will ye, and get my nag ready for the road; I’ll be off this minute.”
Tom departed promptly.
“Well, Mildred,” said he, eyeing her darkly from the corners of his eyes, “sorrow comes unsent for.”
“Ay, sure, she’s breakin’ her heart, poor thing.”
“’Twon’t break, I warrant, for all that,” he answered; “sorrow for a husband they say is a pain in the elbow, sharp and short.”
“All along o’ that ugly Dutch beast. ’Twas an ill wind carried her to Carwell,” said Mildred.
He shut his eyes and shook his head.
“That couldn’t do nowhere,” said he,—
“‘Two cats and one mouse,