she
could not shake off her cares cheerfully. She knew all would turn out
ill--tormented herself--brought on a headache, and looked unwell when
the evening came. The cook sent up the dinner with just enough want of
care to keep her in such continual apprehension that she could hardly
attend to the conversation.

'You did not make such a good hand of it to-day,' said Arthur, when the
guests were gone; 'that soup was ditch-water, and--'

Violet was so worn out that she burst into tears. 'Hey? What's the
matter now? I said nothing to cry for.'

She tried to speak, but the tears would not let her.

'Well, if you can't bear to be told everything is not perfection, I
don't know what is to be done.' And Arthur, in displeasure, took up a
candle and walked off to smoke a cigar in his sitting-room down-stairs.

Her tears were checked by consternation, and, earnest to be forgiven,
she followed; then, as he turned impatiently, said, in a trembling
pleading voice, 'Dear Arthur, I've done crying. I did not mean to be
cross.'

'Well, that's enough, never mind,' said he, not unkindly, but as if in
haste to dismiss the subject, and be left to the peaceful enjoyment of
his cigar.

'And you forgive me?'

'Forgive? nonsense--only don't begin crying about nothing again. There's
nothing more intolerable than for a woman to be always crying, whenever
one speaks to her.'

''Twas not so much that,' said Violet, meekly, 'as that I was vexed
at the dinner not looking well, and it won't, without spending such
quantities of money!'

'Quantities--what do you call quantities?'

She named the cost of the last dinner, and he laughed at her horror;
then, when she was going to prove that it was disproportionate to their
means, he silenced her:

'Well, well, never mind; we are not going to give any more dinners just
yet; but when we do, have done with pinching and squeezing. Why, you
don't look fit to be seen after it.'

'I'm only tired.'

'Ay, with worrying. Go to bed and to sleep, and forget it all!'

She was consoled for that time; but the perplexity continued. She strove
to reduce the ordinary expenditure, but Arthur had a fashion of bringing
home a friend to dinner without notice; and she underwent indescribable
miseries, while reflecting on her one chicken, or five mutton chops; and
though something was sure to be extemporized by the cook, the result was
that these casual guests were as expensive as a banquet. She ventured
to be