“Can’t find the knife-powder, miss,” said a harsh voice. The door was pushed open and disclosed a tall, bony woman of about forty. Her red arms were bare to the elbow, and she betrayed several evidences of a long and arduous day’s charing.
“It’s in the cupboard,” said Prudence. “Why, what’s the matter, Mrs. Porter?”
Mrs. Porter made no reply. Her mouth was wide open and she was gazing with starting eyeballs at Mr. Catesby.
“Joe!” she said, in a hoarse whisper. “Joe!”
Mr. Catesby gazed at her in chilling silence. Miss Truefitt, with an air of great surprise, glanced from one to the other.
“Joe!” said Mrs. Porter again. “Ain’t you goin’ to speak to me?”
Mr. Catesby continued to gaze at her in speechless astonishment. She skipped clumsily round the table and stood before him with her hands clasped.
“Where ’ave you been all this long time?” she demanded, in a higher key.
“You—you’ve made a mistake,” said the bewildered Richard.
“Mistake?” wailed Mrs. Porter. “Mistake! Oh, where’s your ’art?”