CHAPTER VII.
THE OFFER "Well, it ain't none of my business," said Mrs.Rickett, with a sniff.
"Nor it ain't yours either.

But did you ever know anyone as wore anything the likes of that before ?" She shook out for her husband's inspection a filmy garment that had the look of a baby's robe that had grown up, before spreading it on her kitchen table to iron.
"Ah!" said Rickett, ramming a finger into the bowl of his pipe.

"What sort of a thing is that now ?" "What sort of a thing, man?
Why, a night-dress--of course! What d'you think ?" Mrs.Rickett chuckled at his ignorance.

"And that flimsy--why I'm almost afraid to touch it.

It's the quality, you see." "Ah!" said the smith vaguely.
Mrs.Rickett tested the iron near her cheek.