neighbourhood were doing their Saturday marketing for Sunday. The
ex-butler turned into a small old-fashioned shop where he generally
bought his tobacco.

Bunting passed the time of day with the tobacconist, and the two
fell into desultory talk, but to his customer's relief and surprise
the man made no allusion to the subject of which all the
neighbourhood must still be talking.

And then, quite suddenly, while still standing by the counter, and
before he had paid for the packet of tobacco he held in his hand,
Bunting, through the open door, saw with horrified surprise that
Ellen, his wife, was standing, alone, outside a greengrocer's shop
just opposite.

Muttering a word of apology, he rushed out of the shop and across
the road.

"Ellen!" he gasped hoarsely, "you've never gone and left my little
girl alone in the house with the lodger?"

Mrs. Bunting's face went yellow with fear. "I thought you was
indoors," she cried. "You was indoors! Whatever made you come out
for, without first making sure I'd stay in?"

Bunting made no answer; but, as they stared at each other in
exasperated silence, each now knew that the other knew.

They turned and scurried down the crowded street. "Don't run," he
said suddenly; "we shall get there just as quickly if we walk fast.