"Go down and speak to her," she commanded. "Certainly not," said Mr.
Chalk, braving her, although his voice trembled.

"Why not?"

"Because if I did you would ask me what she said, and when I told you you
wouldn't believe me," said Mr. Chalk.

"You--you decline to go down?" said his wife, in a voice shaking with
emotion.

"I do," said Mr. Chalk, firmly. "Why don't you go yourself?"

Mrs. Chalk eyed him for a moment in scornful silence, and then stepped to
the window and sailed majestically down the garden. Mr. Chalk watched
her, with parted lips, and then he began to breathe more freely as the
whistle ceased and the head suddenly disappeared. Still a little
nervous, he watched his wife to the end of the garden and saw her crane
her head over the fence. By the time she returned he was sitting in an
attitude of careless ease, with his back to the window.

"Well?" he said, with assurance.

Mrs. Chalk stood stock-still, and the intensity of her gaze drew Mr.
Chalk's eyes to her face despite his will. For a few seconds she gazed
at him in silence, and then, drawing her skirts together, swept violently
out of the room.