nt. Verona and Romeo were
straightway replaced by Cowfold and the Cowfold consort. He was in the
best of spirits, and he stooped down just as his wife was waking, took
the cat--which was lying before the fire--and threw it on her lap.

"Oh, please do not!" she exclaimed, a little angry, shocked, and sad.

"I wish you would not sit and addle your brains over those books.
Blessed if I don't burn them all! What good do they do? Why don't you
talk?"

"I've nothing particular to say."

"You never have anything to say when you've been reading. Now if I
read a bit of the newspaper, I've always something to talk about."

She was silent, and her husband continued his tune.

"Miriam, my dear, you aren't well. Are you in pain?"

Mr. Farrow never understood any suffering unless it was an ache of some
bind.

"Let me get you just a drop of brandy with some ginger in it."

"No, thank you."

"Yes, you will have just a drop," and he jumped up at once and went to
the cupboard.

"I tell you I will not."

The "not" came out with such emphasis that he desisted and sat down.
The monkey lay on the table, the accordion lay there too; Mr. Farrow
stopped his whistling and sat back in his chair with his finger to his
mouth. At last, he took up the book, turned it over, and put it down
again. He loved his wife after his fashion, and could not bear to see
anybody distressed. He placed his chair beside hers, and lifting her
arm, put it round his neck, she nothing resisting.

"Tell me now, there's a dear, what's the matter," and he kissed her.

"Nothing," she said, somewhat softened by his caresses.

"That's right, my twopenny," a name he used confidentially to her. "A
little faint; the room is rather close," and he opened the window a
trifle at the top, returning to his seat, and embracing her again.

Yet, though she yielded, it was not Mr. Farrow who held her in his
arms; she purposely strove to think an imaginary Romeo's head was on
her neck--his face was something like the face of Montgomery--and she
kept up the illusion all that night. When she came down to breakfast
and sat opposite her husband, it struck her suddenly that she had
cheated him and was a sinner.

In the afternoon she went out for a stroll through the streets, and up
to the monument in the park. Cowfold was busy, for it was market-day.
Sheep-pens were in the square full of sheep, and men were purchasing
them and picking them out as they were sold;