“I’ll just wash these up,” he said. “I shan’t be a minute.”
“Quite right,” said Miss Arbuthnot, getting up and following him. “Peggy and I decided never to leave the dirty things. They marry and have children if you leave them in the scullery. Shall I wash or dry?”
Mr. Wickham very sensibly accepted her offer and gave her two glass-cloths. Miss Arbughnot eyed his with the interest of an expert, approved his methods of rinsing, stacking and washing, his way of cleaning the sink after use. He liked her way of drying and admired the way in which she appeared to know by instinct where the china and teaspoons lived. They then returned to the sitting-room, where Mr. Wickham made up the fire and looking at his watch said what about a sun-downer.
“You haven’t any whisky, I suppose,” said Miss A
