ing in some West-end hotel, Mr. Bunting? Well, things almost as funny as that ’ud be have come to pass." He smiled as if the notion was a funny one.
"Yes, something o’ that sort," muttered Bunting.
"Well, if your idea’s correct, Mr. Bunting"
"I never said ’twas my idea," said Bunting, all in a hurry.
"Well, if that idea’s correct then, ’twill make our task more difficult than ever. Why, ’twould be looking for a needle in a field of hay, Mr. Bunting! But there! I don’t think it’s anything quite so unlikely as that—not myself I don’t." He hesitated. "There’s some of us"—he lowered his voice—"that hopes he’ll betake himself off—The Avenger, I mean—to another big city, to Manchester or to Edinburgh. There’d be plenty of work for him to do there," and Chandler chuckled at his own grim joke.
And then, to both men’s secret relief, for Bunting was now mortally afraid of this discussion concerning The Avenger and his doings, they heard Mrs. Bunting’s key in the lock.
Daisy blushed rosy-red with pleasure when she saw that young Chandler was still there. She had feared that when they got home he would be gone, the more so that Ellen, just as if she was doing it on purpose, had lingered aggravatingly long over each small purchase.
"Here’s Joe come to ask if he can take Daisy out for a walk," blurted out Bunting.
"My mother says as how she’d like you to come to tea, over at Richmond," said Chandler awkwardly, "I just come in to see whether we could fix it up, Miss Daisy."
