She led him into the kitchen, where the table was spread with butter, bread, several kinds of jam, and cake. At the table, with an enormous cup of tea halfway to his mouth, was a freckled fair man with a blue muffler and a discharged soldier's silver badge on his lapel. Beside him on the table was a pile of cheap writing-pads.
"This is another ex-serviceman," the maid said. "He's selling writing-paper. I shouldn't think there's much sale for it now. It's ages since I seen some one round selling pads."
"How do, mate?" said the freckled one, meeting the quizzical regard of the pedlar with complete equanimity. "How's trade?"
"Fair. Just fair. You seem to be very comfortable."
"Well, I needed it. Haven't sold a pad today. This country's going to the dogs. It's something to come across some one now and again who has a heart."
"Have some jam," said the maid, pushing his cup of tea across to the pedlar, and he helped himself liberally.
"Well, I'm glad the missus isn't at home in one way, but I'm sorry in another. I thought as how she might buy something, too."
"Well, I'm not sorry," she said. "It's a blessed relief. What with her airs and her tantrums, life isn't worth living."
"Got a temper, has she?"
"Well, I call it temper, but she calls it nerves. And ever since this murder affair — she was in the queue that night the man was murdered, you know. Yes, stood right up against him. And oh, what a to-do! And then she had to go to the inquest and give evidence. If she'd done the murder herself she couldn't have kicked up a bigger fuss about going. The night before she was screaming and howling and saying she couldn't stand it. And when the poor master tried to quiet her down she wouldn't let him go near her. Hurling names at him you Wouldn't use to a dog. I tell you it wasn't half a relief when she went off to Eastbourne with Miss Lethbridge — that's her sister."