Mr. Boxer shook his head. "I only wanted to come in and make a clean breast of it," he said, in a curious voice; "then I'll go."
Mrs. Gimpson stood aside to let him pass, and Mr. Thompson, not to be denied, followed close behind with his faintly protesting wife. They sat down in a row against the wall, and Mr. Boxer, sitting opposite in a hang-dog fashion, eyed them with scornful wrath.
"Well?" said Mrs. Boxer, at last.
"All that he said was quite true," said her husband, defiantly. "The only thing is, he didn't tell the arf of it. Altogether, I married three dusky maidens."
Everybody but Mr. Thompson shuddered with horror.
"Then I married a white girl in Australia," pursued Mr. Boxer, musingly. "I wonder old Silver didn't see that in the bowl; not arf a fortune- teller, I call 'im."
"What they see in 'im!" whispered the astounded Mr. Thompson to his wife.
"And did you marry the beautiful girl in the photograph?" demanded Mrs. Boxer, in trembling accents.