He turned round savagely at the touch of her hand on his shoulder and looked at the two women in light gowns on the threshold.
“What are you doing?” he demanded gruffly. “Damn it all, I means to have my tea.”
“He’s been one of those who lash and kick, too—the brute. And she such a sweet old fragrant thing! Never mind, Mrs. Hone; don’t you trouble to move, Mr. Hone; we should be sorry to disturb your tea.”
Mrs. Clutton squeezed round the other side of the table and took the tray in her hands. It was oval, cut out of the solid wood, and daintily inlaid with box.
“You’d sell this, Mrs. Hone?”
“The lady wants to know if we’ll sell the tray.”
“What’s she goin’ to give we for it?” he demanded sharply.
“Ten shillings!” screamed Mrs. Clutton.
“No, no! We couldn’t let it go for that. I thought fifteen.”
“Too much.” She put the tray back on the ledge.