He had, however, little time to reduce this confusion to order; an impatient tap at the door was followed by the entrance of a bright eager little woman, in a long trailing garment of a curious combination of heliotrope and pale yellow.
“John, are you ready for me? May I hear all of it?” she demanded, putting her little hand on his big ones.
“I feel in rather a yeasty condition at this minute, but I’ll subside shortly, no doubt. Will you be able to hold out a little longer?”
“Haven’t I borne it for two mortal hours and twenty minutes? Were they talking all the time? I was in an awful fright it was something I mustn’t hear. Two scientists in trouble about their souls, perhaps?”
“Fortunately I can divulge all I know, but you needn’t be flippant. It’s all very funny, but it’s just as woefully sad. What on earth are you at?”
“Pinning up my skirts, the fire would ruin this colour in a night. Do you like my gown?”
“I do, but whether the parish will, is another question.”
“Oh, never mind the parish, I’ll teach it; you have no idea how easy it is to get round people if you know the track. Is that yeast risen high enough or has it gone sad? Remember I have held out a frightful time.”
“Hold out another five minutes while I write a note, I must catch this post.”
When Mr. Fellowes brought his little seventeen-years old wife home to the respectable parish of Waring, just four years before this time, it was the generally received opinion of most competent judges that he had a good deal to answer for.