thority lay with her.
It was only when great matters were touched that Mr. Neefit would
rise in his wrath and desire his wife "to be blowed."

No doubt Mrs. Neefit was an unhappy woman,--more unfortunate as a
woman than was her husband as a man. The villa at Hendon had been
heavy upon him, but it had been doubly heavy upon her. He could
employ himself. The legs of his customers, to him, were a blessed
resource. But she had no resource. The indefinite idea which she had
formed of what life would be in a pretty villa residence had been
proved to be utterly fallacious,--though she had never acknowledged
the fallacy either to husband or daughter. That one-horse carriage
in which she was dragged about, was almost as odious to her as her
own drawing-room. That had become so horrible that it was rarely
used;--but even the dining-room was very bad. What would she do
there, poor woman? What was there left for her to do at all in this
world,--except to nag at her husband?

Nevertheless all who knew anything about the Neefits said that they
were very respectable people, and had done very well in the world.

CHAPTER VI.

MRS. NEEFIT'S LITTLE DINNER.

On the Sunday morning following that remarkable Saturday on which
Miss Bonner had been taken to her new home and Ralph Newton had
ordered three pair of breeches, Mr. Neefit made a very ambitious
proposition. "My dear, I think I'll ask that young man to come
and have a bit of dinner here next Sunday." This was said after
breakfast, as Mr. Neefit was being made smart in his church-going
coat and his Sunday hat, which were kept together in Mrs. Neefit's
big press.

"Which young man?" Now Mrs. Neefit when she asked the question knew
very well that Mr. Newton was the young man to whom hospitality was
to be offered. Ontario Moggs was her favourite; but Mr. Neefit would
not have dreamed of asking Ontario Moggs to dinner.

"Mr. Newton, my dear," said Mr. Neefit, with his head stuck sharply
up, while his wife tied a bow in his Sunday neckhandkerchief.

"Why should us ask him? He won't think nothing of his vittels when he
gets 'em. He'd only turn up his nose; and as for Polly, what's the
use of making her more saucy than she is? I don't want such as him
here, Neefit;--that I don't. Stuck-up young men like him had better
stay away from Alexandrina Cottage,"--that was the name of the happy
home at Hendon. "I'm sure our Polly won't be the better for having
the likes of him here."