"You can come in if you like," said Mrs. Brandon coldly.
"I say, Mrs. B., is dinner almost ready? My frien', Mr. Travers, is hungry, an' so'm I."
"Dinner is nearly ready. I suppose, Mr. Brandon, you have just come from the tavern."
"Yes, Mrs. B., I've come from the tavern," hiccoughed Brandon. "Have you anything to say against it?"
"I would say something if it would do any good," said his wife despondently.
"If you think—hic—that I've been drinking Mrs. B., you're mistaken; ain't she, Travers?"
"You didn't drink enough to hurt you, Brandon," said his companion, coming to his assistance.
Mrs. Brandon looked at Travers, but did not deign to answer him. It was clear that his assurance possessed no value in her eyes.
She continued her preparations, and laid the dinner on the table.
Then she went to the door, and, shading her eyes, looked out, hoping to see Grit on his way home. But she looked in vain. Just as he was about fastening his boat, or, rather, the boat he had borrowed, two passengers came up and wished to be conveyed across the river.