minute. A fearful night to have to go out in" she looked at him deprecatingly.
And then Mr. Sleuth did something which startled her very much. Pushing his chair back, he jumped up and drew himself to his full height.
"What d’you mean?" he stammered. "Why did you say that, Mrs. Bunting?"
She stared at him, fascinated, affrighted. Again there came an awful questioning look over his face.
"I was thinking of Bunting, sir. He’s got a job to-night. He’s going to act as waiter at a young lady’s birthday party. I was thinking it’s a pity he has to turn out, and in his thin clothes, too"—she brought out her words jerkily.
Mr. Sleuth seemed somewhat reassured, and again he sat down. "Ah!" he said. "Dear me—I’m sorry to hear that! I hope your husband will not catch cold, Mrs. Bunting."
And then she shut the door, and went downstairs.
| · | · | · | · | · | · | · |
Without telling Bunting what she meant to do, she dragged the heavy washhand-stand away from the chimneypiece, and lighted the fire.
Then in some triumph she called Bunting in.
"Time for you to dress," she cried out cheerfully, "and I’ve got a little bit of fire for you to dress by."
As he exclaimed at her extravagance, "Well, ’twill be pleasant for me, too; keep me company-like while you’re out; and make the room nice and warm when you come in. You’ll be fair perished, even walking that short way," she said.
