The unusual movements of Mrs Yabsley had roused her suspicions, but the arrival of her husband, Sam fighting drunk for his tea, had interrupted her observations.

She was accustomed to act promptly, even if it were only to dodge a plate, and in an instant her sharp features were thrust past the door, left ajar for the sake of coolness.
"I thought I'd run across an' ask yer about that ironmould, on Sam's collar," she began.
Then, surprised by the appearance of the room, dressed for a festival, she looked around.

Her eyes fell on the battalion of bottles, and she stood thunderstruck by this extravagance.

But Ada, anxious to display her ring, was smoothing and patting her hair every few minutes.
Already the movement had become a habit.

Unconsciously she lifted her hand and flashed the ring in the eyes of Mrs Swadling.
"Well, I never!" she cried.