He stared into the cup; then, to use the Five Towns phrase, he supped it
up.

There could be no doubt; it was his special China tea. It had a peculiar
flavour (owing, perhaps, to the precedence given to milk), but it was
incontestably his guarded and locked tea. How had she got it?

"Where didst find this tea, lass?" he asked.

"In the little corner cupboard in the scullery," she said. "I'd no idea
that people drank such good China tea in Bursley."

"Ah!" he observed, concealing his concern under a mask of irony, "China
tea was drunk i' Bursley afore your time."

"Mother would only drink Ceylon," said she.

"That doesna' surprise me," said he, as if to imply that no vagary on
the part of Susan could surprise him. And he proceeded, reflectively:
"In th' corner cupboard, sayst tha?"

"Yes, in a large tin box."

A large tin box. This news was overwhelming. He rose abruptly and went
into the scullery. Indubitably there was a large tin box, pretty nearly
half full of his guarded tea, in the corner cupboard.

He returned, the illusion of half a lifetime shattered. "That there
woman was a thief!" he announced.