“‘And what about my voice?’ he demanded”
“‘George!’ she exclaimed sharply”
“He struck a match and, holding it before his
face, looked up at the window”
“Mr. Stokes, taking his dazed friend by the
arm, led him gently away”
“The mate smiled too”
“Sarcasm they did try, but at that the cook
could more than hold his own”
“‘Good-by,’ he said slowly; ‘and
I wish you both every happiness’”
“‘She’s got your eyes,’ said
his lordship”
“‘I like fools better than lords’”
“He patted ’im on the shoulder and said
’ow well he was filling out”
“Mr. Potter was then introduced and received
a gracious reception”
“A gold watch and chain lent an air of substance
to his waistcoat”
“‘And we don’t want you following
us about,’ said Mr. Dix, sharply”
“‘I tell you he can’t swim,’
repeated Mr. Heard, passionately”
“‘You leave go o’ my lodger,’
ses Bob Pretty”
“He slammed the door in Bob Pretty’s face”
“On the third morning he took Mrs. Bowman out
for a walk”
“‘I had forgotten it was there,’
he said, nervously”
“The corner of the trunk took the gesticulating
Mr. Wragg by the side of the head”
“‘What did you do that for?’ demanded
Mr. Gale, sitting up”
“‘Why didn’t you tell me then?’
ses Ted”
“‘I shall take my opportunity,’
he ses, ’and break it to ’er gentle like’”
“He astonished Mrs. Jobling next day by the
gift of a geranium”
“They offered Mrs. Jobling her choice of at
least a hundred plans for bringing him to his senses”
“’She asked ’im whether ’e’d
got a fancy for any partikler spot to be buried in”
“‘All right,’ ses the cabman, taking
his ’orse out and leading it into a stable,
‘mind you don’t catch cold’”
“So long”
[Illustration: The changeling]
Mr. George Henshaw let himself in at the front door,
and stood for some time wiping his boots on the mat.
The little house was ominously still, and a faint
feeling, only partially due to the lapse of time since
breakfast, manifested itself behind his waistcoat.
He coughed—a matter-of-fact cough—and,
with an attempt to hum a tune, hung his hat on the
peg and entered the kitchen.
Mrs. Henshaw had just finished dinner. The neatly
cleaned bone of a chop was on a plate by her side;
a small dish which had contained a rice-pudding was
empty; and the only food left on the table was a small
rind of cheese and a piece of stale bread. Mr.
Henshaw’s face fell, but he drew his chair up
to the table and waited.
His wife regarded him with a fixed and offensive stare.
Her face was red and her eyes were blazing. It
was hard to ignore her gaze; harder still to meet
it. Mr. Henshaw, steering a middle course, allowed
his eyes to wander round the room and to dwell, for
the fraction of a second, on her angry face.
