But she would have none of that. "I heard the gentleman say myself
that he was a lunatic," she said fiercely. And then, dropping her
voice, "A religious maniac--that's what he called him."

"Well, he never seemed so to me," said Bunting stoutly. "He simply
seemed to me 'centric--that's all he did. Not a bit madder than
many I could tell you of." He was walking round the room restlessly,
but he stopped short at last. "And what d'you think we ought to do
now?"

Mrs. Bunting shook her head impatiently. "I don't think we ought
to do nothing," she said. "Why should we?"

And then again he began walking round the room in an aimless fashion
that irritated her.

"If only I could put out a bit of supper for him somewhere where he
would get it! And his money, too? I hate to feel it's in there."

"Don't you make any mistake--he'll come back for that," said Bunting,
with decision.

But Mrs. Bunting shook her head. She knew better. "Now," she said,
"you go off up to bed. It's no use us sitting up any longer."

And Bunting acquiesced.

She ran down and got him a bedroom candle--there was no gas in the
little back bedroom upstairs. And then she watched him go slowly up.