"Well, my dear," interrogated Mr Potts, humbly, as soon as the door was closed. But Mrs Potts made no reply, until she had led her husband to such a distance from the parlour as she imagined would prevent Mr Rainscourt from being roused by the high pitch to which she intended to raise her voice. "I do declare, Mr Potts, you are a complete _fool_. Saturday--all the maids washing--and ask him to dinner! There's positively nothing to eat. It really is too provoking." "Well, my dear, what does it matter? The poor, man will, in all probability, not eat a bit--he is so overcome." "So over-fiddlesticked!" replied the lady. "Grief never hurts the appetite, Mr Potts; on the contrary, people care more then about a good dinner than at other times. It's the only enjoyment they can have without being accused by the world of want of feeling." "Well, you know better than I, my dear; but I really think that if you were to die I could not eat a bit." "And I tell you, Mr Potts, I could, if you were to die tomorrow.--So stupid of you!--Sally, run and take off the tablecloth,--it's quite dirty; put on one of the fine damask." "They will be very large for the table, ma'am." "Never mind--be quick, and step next door, and ask the old German to come in and wait at table. He shall have a pint of strong beer." Sally did as she was bid. Mr Potts, whose wine had been decanted long before, and Mrs Potts, who had vented her spleen upon her husband, returned into the parlour together. "My dear Mr Potts is so particular about decanting his wine," observed the lady, with a gracious smile, as she entered--"he is so long about it, and scolds me so if ever I wish to do it for him." Mr Potts was a little surprised at the last accusation: but as he had long been drilled, he laughed assent. A tedious half-hour--during which the lady had all the conversation to herself, for the curate answered only in monosyllabic compliance, and Rainscourt made no answer whatever--elapsed before dinner was announced by the German mercenary who had been subsidised. "Meinheer, de dinner was upon de table." "Come, Mr Rainscourt," said the curate, in a persuasive tone. Rainscourt got up, and without offering his arm to the lady, who had her own bowed out in readiness, stalked out of the room by the side of Mr Potts, followed by his wife, who, by her looks, seemed to imply that she considered that the demise of one woman was no excuse for a breach of politeness towards another. The covers were removed--two small soles (much _too small_ for three people), and a dish of potatoes. "Will you allow me to offer you a little sole, Mr Rainscourt? I am afraid you will have a very poor dinner." Rainscourt bowed in the negative, and the soles disappeared in a very short time between the respective organs of mastication of Mr and Mrs Potts.