d deal of interest in your
welfare, and I suppose he could be prevailed upon to give you wise
advice in case of need."

"I dare say. Fred is a good fellow, and advice is as cheap as dirt."

"And pity?"

"Pity! Why do you think Fred pities me? Why should he pity me?"

"Your question is hypocritical, because you know very well that he
thinks you are a victim,--a victim of a terrible mother-in-law."

It was the first time she had ever spoken out so openly. I said,--

"We will leave it to Bessie. Bessie, do I look like a victim?"

"No," said Bessie, "but you are both the queerest puzzles! Mamma is
always her dearest self when you are away, Charlie. You don't know each
other at all yet. When you are together you are both horrid, and when
you are apart you are both lovely. And yet I don't know why it should be
so; there is no quarrel between you--and--and--"

And Bessie began to cry. I got up.

"No, there's no quarrel between us," I said; "but perhaps a straight-out
row would be better than forever to be eating our own vitals with
suppressed rancor."

Mrs. Pinkerton made as if she would go around to where Bessie sat, to
condole with her, without noticing my remark.

"No, don't trouble yourself," I cried. "It's my place to comfort my
wife." And I took Bessie in my arms tenderly, and kissed her
tear-stained cheek almost fiercely.

This theatrical demonstration caused my mother-in-law to sweep out of
the room promptly, with her temper as nearly ruffled as I had ever seen
it.

"O Charlie!" whimpered my poor little wife despairingly, "what shall I
do? It's awful to have you and mamma this way!"

And now it was my turn to say, "Cheer up, my love! It will all come
around right in time."

But my _arriere pensee_ was, "Would that that burglar had bagged the old
iceberg, and carried her off to her native Nova Zembla!"

CHAPTER VII.

MISS VAN'S PARTY AND ANOTHER UNPLEASANTNESS.

One day in the early fall, Mrs. Pinkerton received a letter postmarked
at Paris, which seemed to throw her into a state of extraordinary
excitement. I knew her well enough to be certain that she would not tell
me the news, but that I should hear it later through Bessie. Such was
the case. When I came home towards evening and went up stairs to prepare
for supper, Bessie, who was seated in our room, said in a joyful tone,--

"George is coming home next month!"

"That's good," I said; and the more I thought of it the better it
seem