"I may stay in Sunwich, and I may not--it all depends." "You're not going 'ome ?" said Mr.Kybird.
"No." The shopkeeper stood considering.

He had a small room to let at the top of his house, and he stood divided between the fear of not getting his rent and the joy to a man fond of simple pleasures, to be obtained by dunning the arrogant Captain Nugent for his son's debts.

Before he could arrive at a decision his meditations were interrupted by the entrance of a stout, sandy-haired lady from the back parlour, who, having conquered his scruples against matrimony some thirty years before, had kept a particularly wide-awake eye upon him ever since.
"Your tea's a-gettin' cold," she remarked, severely.
Her husband received the news with calmness.

He was by no means an enthusiast where that liquid was concerned, the admiration evoked by its non-inebriating qualities having been always something in the nature of a mystery to him.
"I'm coming," he retorted; "I'm just 'aving a word with Mr.Nugent 'ere." "Well, I never did," said the stout lady, coming farther into the shop and regarding the visitor.

"I shouldn't 'ave knowed 'im.