She rose from her seat and, crouching by the
fireplace, regarded him with a mixture of anger and dismay.
"It--it's all right, Milly," said Mr. Simpson, with a smile that
revealed a dazzling set of teeth.
"Who are you?" demanded Mrs. Simpson. "How dare you call me by my
Christian name. It's a good job for you my husband is not here."
"He wouldn't hurt me," said Mr. Simpson, with an attempt at
facetiousness. "He's the best friend I ever had. Why, we slept in the
same cradle."
"I don't want any of your nonsense," said Mrs. Simpson. "You get out of
my house before I send for the police. How dare you come into a
respectable woman's house in this fashion? Be off with you."
"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.
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