dear?" Mr. Cockayne ventured, in an
unguarded moment, to ask, putting aside for a moment Mr. Bayle St.
John's scholarly book on the Louvre.

"At any rate, Mr. Cockayne, we do humbly venture to hope that you will
be able to spare us an hour this morning to accompany us to the
_Magasins du Louvre_. We would not ask you, but we have been told the
crowd is so great that ladies alone would be torn to pieces."

"I forget how many thousands a day, papa dear," Sophonisba mercifully
interposed, "but a good many, visit these wonderful shops. I confess I
never saw anything like even the outside of them. The inside must be
lovely."

"I have no doubt they are, my dear," Mr. Cockayne observed. "They were
built about ten years ago. The foundations were----"

"There," cried Mrs. Cockayne, rising, "there, your papa is off with his
lecture. I shall put on my bonnet." And Mrs. Cockayne swept grandly from
the room.

Mrs. Cockayne re-entered the room with her bonnet on; determination was
painted on the lady's countenance. Cockayne should not escape this time.
He should be led off like a lamb to the slaughter. Were not the silks
marked at ridiculously low prices? Was not the shawl-room a sight more
than equal to anything to be seen in any other part of Paris? Was not
the folding department just as much a sight of Paris as that wretched
collection of lumber in the Hotel Cluny?

Some wives had only to hint to have; but that was not the case with the
hapless Mrs. Cockayne. She was sure nobody could be more economical than
she was, both for herself and the children, and that was her reward. She
had to undergo the most humiliating process of asking point-blank; even
when twenty or thirty thousand pairs of gloves were to be sold at prices
that were unheard of! Men were so stupid in their meanness!

"Buy the shop," Mr. Cockayne angrily observed.

Perhaps Mr. Cockayne would be pleased to inform his lawful wife and the
unfortunate children who were subjected by fate to his cruel
tyranny--perhaps he would inform them when it would be convenient for
him to take them home. His insults were more than his wife could bear.

"What's the matter now?" asked the despairing Cockayne, rubbing his hat
with his coat-sleeve.

"Mamma dear, papa is coming with us," Sophonisba expostulated.

"Well, I suppose he is. It has not quite come to that yet, my dear. I am
prepared for anything, I believe; but your father will, I trust, not
make us the laughing-st