Mrs. Bell put down her knitting—a grey worsted stocking for Bell himself—and sighed deeply as she gazed at him. He had not been very sober at dinnertime: he was worse now. Nevertheless she felt thankful that he had come home so soon.
"She's gone out!" he continued, before Mrs. Bell had spoken: and it was evident that the fact of Rosaline's being out was putting him into a furious passion. "Who is she with?"
"Rose went over after tea to sit a bit with Granny Sandon. Granny's worse to-day, poor thing. I'm expecting her back every minute."
Bell staggered to the fireplace and stood there grasping his stick. His wife went on with her knitting in silence. To reproach him now would do harm instead of good. It must be owned that his exceeding to this extent was quite an exceptional case: not many times had his wife known him do it.
"Where's Raynor?" he broke out.
"Raynor!" she echoed, in surprise. "Do you mean Mr. Frank Raynor? I don't know where he is."
"He came in here a few minutes ago."
"Bless you, no, not he," returned the wife, in an easy tone, thinking it the best tone to assume just then.
"I tell ye I saw him come here."
"The moonlight must have misled you, Josiah. Mr. Raynor has not been here to-day. Put down your stick and take off your hat: and sit down and be comfortable."