“Never, Ma'am!” echoed Mr. Smith, “upon my conscience.”
“My dear,” said the hospitable carpenter, “I dare say Mr. Kneebone and his friends would be glad of a little refreshment.”
“They shall have it, then,” replied his better half, rising. “You base ingrate,” she added, in a whisper, as she flounced past Mr. Kneebone on her way to the door, “how could you bring such creatures with you, especially on an occasion like this, when we haven't met for a fortnight!”
“Couldn't help it, my life,” returned the gentleman addressed, in the same tone; “but you little know who those individuals are.”
“Lord bless us! you alarm me. Who are they?”
Mr. Kneebone assumed a mysterious air; and bringing his lips close to Mrs. Wood's ear, whispered, “secret agents from France—you understand—friends to the cause—hem!”
“I see,—persons of rank!”
Mr. Kneebone nodded.
“Noblemen.”
Mr. Kneebone smiled assent.