sonating the Lion Masher. It was her third and last
song.

In the applause which followed, Mr. Chalker could discern plainly the
stick as well as the voice of his old friend. And he thought how
beautiful is the love of husband unto wife, and he smiled, thinking
that when Joe came next to see him, he might, perhaps, hear truths
which he had thought unknown, and, for certain reasons, wished to
remain unknown.

Presently he saw the singer pass down the hall, and join her husband,
who now, his labors ended, was seeking refreshment at the bar. She was
a good-looking girl--still only a girl, and apparently under
twenty--quietly dressed, yet looking anything but quiet. But that
might have been due to her fringe, which was, so to speak, a
prominent-feature in her face. She was tall and well-made, with large
features, an ample cheek, a full eye, and a wide mouth. A
good-natured-looking girl, and though her mouth was wide, it suggested
smiles. The husband was exchanging a little graceful badinage with the
barmaid when she joined him, and perhaps this made her look a little
cross. "She's jealous, too," said Mr. Chalker, observant; "all the
better." Yet a face which, on the whole, was prepossessing and good
natured, and betokened a disposition to make the best of the world.

"How long has she been married?" Mr. Chalker asked the proprietor.

"Only about a month or so."

"Ah!"

Mr. Chalker proceeded to talk business, and gave no further hint of
any interest in the newly-married pair.

"Now, Joe," said the singer, with a freezing glance at the barmaid,
"are you going to stand here all night?"

Joe drank off his glass and followed his wife into the street. They
walked side by side in silence, until they reached their lodgings.
Then she threw off her hat and jacket, and sat down on the horsehair
sofa and said abruptly:

"I can't do it, Joe; and I won't. So don't ask me."

"Wait a bit--wait a bit, Lotty, my love. Don't be in a hurry, now.
Don't say rash things, there's a good girl." Joe spoke quite softly,
as if he were not the least angry, but, perhaps, a little hurt.
"There's not a bit of a hurry. You needn't decide to-day, nor yet
to-morrow."

"I couldn't do it," she said. "Oh, it's a dreadful, wicked thing even
to ask me. And only five weeks to-morrow since we married!"

"Lotty, my dear, let us be reasonable." He still spoke quite softly.
"If we are not to go on like other people; if we are to be continually
botheri