come he spent about a third on books. His wife was the
daughter of a laundress, in whose house he had lodged thirty years ago,
when new to London but already long-acquainted with hunger; they lived
in complete harmony, but Mrs Hinks, who was four years the elder, still
spoke the laundress tongue, unmitigated and immitigable. Another pair
were Mr and Mrs Gorbutt. In this case there were no narrow circumstances
to contend with, for the wife, originally a nursemaid, not long after
her marriage inherited house property from a relative. Mr Gorbutt deemed
himself a poet; since his accession to an income he had published, at
his own expense, a yearly volume of verses; the only result being to
keep alive rancour in his wife, who was both parsimonious and vain.
Making no secret of it, Mrs Gorbutt rued the day on which she had wedded
a man of letters, when by waiting so short a time she would have been
enabled to aim at a prosperous tradesman, who kept his gig and had
everything handsome about him. Mrs Yule suspected, not without reason,
that this lady had an inclination to strong liquors. Thirdly came Mr
and Mrs Christopherson, who were poor as church mice. Even in a friend's
house they wrangled incessantly, and made tragi-comical revelations
of their home life. The husband worked casually at irresponsible
journalism, but his chosen study was metaphysics; for many years he had
had a huge and profound book on hand, which he believed would bring him
fame, though he was not so unsettled in mind as to hope for anything
else. When an article or two had earned enough money for immediate
necessities he went off to the British Museum, and then the difficulty
was to recall him to profitable exertions. Yet husband and wife had an
affection for each other. Mrs Christopherson came from Camberwell,
where her father, once upon a time, was the smallest of small butchers.
Disagreeable stories were whispered concerning her earlier life, and
probably the metaphysician did not care to look back in that direction.
They had had three children; all were happily buried.

These men were capable of better things than they had done or would ever
do; in each case their failure to fulfil youthful promise was largely
explained by the unpresentable wife. They should have waited; they might
have married a social equal at something between fifty and sixty.

Another old friend was Mr Quarmby. Unwedded he, and perpetually exultant
over men who, as he phrased it,