wife protested; but she was too ill to defend herself
further.

"What a life for a man," he proceeded; "stuck down in this cursed
hole, without a congenial soul to speak to, in or out of the house."

"That is a cruel thing to say, Henry," she remonstrated with dignity.

"Well, I apologise," he rejoined ungraciously. "But you must confess
that I have some cause to complain."

He was standing behind her as he spoke, and she felt that he eyed her
the while with disapproval of her appearance, and anger at her
condition. She knew the look only too well, poor soul, and her
attitude was deprecating as she sat there gazing up pitifully at the
strip of level greyness above the houses opposite. She said nothing,
however, only rocked herself on her chair, and looked forlornly
miserable; seeing which brought his irritation to a climax. He flung
the book across the room; but even in the act, his countenance
cleared. He was standing in the window, and caught a glimpse of Bessie
Gottley, who was passing at the moment on the opposite side of the
road, and looked across at him, smiling and nodding invitingly. Mrs.
Caldwell saw the pantomime, and her heart contracted with a pang when
she saw how readily her husband responded. It was hard that the evil
moods should not be conquered for her as well as for Bessie Gottley.

Bridget came in just then, bringing the belated whisky.

"Oh, you did order it," he graciously acknowledged. "Why didn't you
say so?" He opened the bottle, and poured some out for himself.
"Here's to the moon-faced Bessie!" he said jocularly.

Mrs. Caldwell went on with the mending. Her husband began to walk up
and down the room, in a good humour again. He walked peculiarly, more
on his toes than his heels, with an odd little spring in each step, as
if it were the first step of a dance. This springiness gave to his
gait a sort of buoyancy which might have seemed natural to him, if
exaggerated, in his youth, but had the air of an affectation in middle
life, as if it were part of an assumption of juvenility.

"Won't you go on with the reading?" his wife said at last. His
restlessness worried her.

"No," he answered; "I shall go out. I want exercise."

"When will you be back?" she asked wistfully.

"Oh, hang it all! don't nag me. I shall come back when I like."

He left the room as he spoke, slamming the door behind him. Mrs.
Caldwell did not alter her attitude, but the tears welled up in her
eyes, and ran down