outrageous bonnet.

I formed a mean opinion of Mrs. Hicking's intelligence from her pride in
the baby, which was a very ordinary one. She created a regrettable scene
when it was brought to her, because "she had been feared it would not
know her again." I could have told her that they know no one for years
had I not been in terror of Irene, who dandled the child on her knees
and talked to it all the way. I have never known a bolder little hussy
than this Irene. She asked the infant improper questions, such as "Oo
know who gave me this bonnet?" and answered them herself. "It was
the pretty gentleman there," and several times I had to affect sleep,
because she announced, "Kiddy wants to kiss the pretty gentleman."

Irksome as all this necessarily was to a man of taste, I suffered
still more acutely when we reached our destination, where disagreeable
circumstances compelled me to drink tea with a waiter's family. William
knew that I regarded thanks from persons of his class as an outrage, yet
he looked them though he dared not speak them. Hardly had he sat down
at the table by my orders than he remembered that I was a member of the
club and jumped up. Nothing is in worse form than whispering, yet again
and again he whispered to his poor, foolish wife, "How are you now?
You don't feel faint?" and when she said she felt like another woman
already, his face charged me with the change. I could not but conclude
from the way she let the baby pound her that she was stronger than she
pretended.

I remained longer than was necessary because I had something to say to
William which I feared he would misunderstand, but when he announced
that it was time for him to catch a train back to London, at which his
wife paled, I delivered the message.

"William," I said, backing away from him, "the head-waiter asked me to
say that you could take a fortnight's holiday. Your wages will be paid
as usual."

Confound him.

"William," I cried furiously, "go away."

Then I saw his wife signing to him, and I knew she wanted to be left
alone with me.

"William," I cried in a panic, "stay where you are."

But he was gone, and I was alone with a woman whose eyes were filmy. Her
class are fond of scenes. "If you please, ma'am!" I said imploringly.

But she kissed my hand; she was like a little dog.

"It can be only the memory of some woman," said she, "that makes you so
kind to me and mine."

Memory was the word she used, as if all my youth