"
"Now, look here, Milly----" began Mr. Simpson.
His wife drew herself up to her full height of four feet eleven.
"I've had a hair-cut and a shave," pursued her husband; "also I've had
my hair restored to its natural colour. But I'm the same man, and you
know it."
"I know nothing of the kind," said his wife, doggedly. "I don't know
you from Adam. I've never seen you before, and I don't want to see you
again. You go away."
"I'm your husband, and my place is at home," replied Mr. Simpson. "A
man can have a shave if he likes, can't he? Where's my supper?"
"Go on," said his wife. "Keep it up. But be careful my husband don't
come in and catch you, that's all."
Mr. Simpson gazed at her fixedly, and then, with an impatient
exclamation, walked into the small kitchen and began to set the supper.
A joint of cold beef, a jar of pickles, bread, butter, and cheese made
an appetizing display. Then he took a jug from the dresser and
descended to the cellar.
A musical trickling fell on the ear of Mrs. Simpson as she stood at the
parlour door, and drew her stealthily to the cellar. The key was in the
lock, and, with a sudden movement, she closed the door and locked it.
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