“No use bandying words, sir, wid a single woman dat lives alone wid a single man,” said Mr. Niplightly.
Nancy flopped the child from her right arm to her left, and with the back of her hand she slapped the constable across the face. “Take that for the cure of a bad heart,” she said, “and tell the Dempster I gave it you.”
Then she turned on the postman and Black Tom. “Out of it, you lil thief, your mouth's only a dirty town-well and your tongue's the pump in it. Go home and die, you big black spider—you're ould enough for it and wicked enough, too. Out of it, the lot of you!” she cried, and clashed the door at their backs, and then opened it again for a parting shot. “And if it's true you're on your way to heaven together, just let me know, and I'll see if I can't put up with the other place myself.”
XIX.
That evening Pete was sitting with one foot on the cradle rocker, one arm on the table, and the other hand trifling tenderly with the ring and the earrings which he had found in the drawer of the dressing-table, when there was a hurried knock on the door. It had the hollow reverberation of a knock on the lid of a coffin.
“Come in,” called Pete.
It was Philip, but it was almost as if Death had entered, so thin and bony were his cheeks, so wild his eyes, so cold his hands.
Pete was prepared for anything. “You've found me out, too, I see you have,” he said defiantly. “You needn't tell me—it's chasing caught fish.”
“Be brave, Pete,” said Philip. “It will be a great shock to you.”