"It was a cruel jest, whoever played it," said Mrs. Little with decision; and looking meaningly at her husband she added, "I hope I shall never know who did it, or I should speak very bluntly."
Dick Little looked uncomfortable, and Bindle created a diversion by rising.
"Well, I must be 'oppin' it," he remarked genially. "I enjoyed this little talk."
Dick Little preceded him into the hall. Bindle stepped back into the room.
"Miss—mum, I mean," he said awkwardly, "you ain't inclined to be religious, are yer?"
There was such earnestness in his voice that Mrs. Little checked the laugh that was upon her lips.
"No, Mr. Bindle, I'm afraid I'm not at all a good person."
Bindle heaved a sigh of relief. "Then 'e's got a sportin' chance," he muttered, half to himself. "Good-night, mum." And Bindle closed the door behind him.
"Well, Ettie," said Dick Little, as he re-entered the room, "what do you think of J. B.? Not a bad sort of fellow, eh?"
"Dick, I think he's a perfect dear."
And Dick Little expressed entire concurrence with his wife's view in a way that young husbands have.
THE END
