The landlady’s answer was as downright as it was unwelcome.
“I never see such a fool!” she said, “if that’s what you mean. And you”—with scorn—“to call yourself a Bow Street man! Bow Street? Bah!”
Mr. Bishop opened his mouth.
“A parish constable’s a Solomon to you!” she continued, before he could speak.
His face was purple, his surprise ludicrous.
“To me?” he ejaculated incredulously. “S’help me, ma’am, you are mad, or I am! What have I done?”
“It’s not what you’ve done!” Mrs. Gilson answered grimly. “It’s what you’ve left undone! Oh, you gaby!” she continued, with unction. “You poor creature! You bag of goose-feathers! D’you know no more of women than that? Why, I’ve kept my mouth shut the last ten blessed minutes for nothing else but to see what a fool you’d make of yourself! And for certain it was not for nothing!”
Henrietta tapped the table.
“Perhaps when you’ve done,” she said, with tragic dignity, “you will both be good enough to leave the room. I desire to be alone.”
Her eyes were like stars. In her voice was an odd mixture of elation and alarm.