y
with the utmost application. The husband's presence in the house seemed
a mere accident--save in the still nocturnal season, when Mrs. Jordan
bestowed upon him her counsel and her admonitions.

After the lapse of a few days Mr. Jordan again offered combat, and threw
himself into it with a frenzy.

'Look here!' he shouted at length, 'either you or I are going to leave
this house. I can't live with you--understand? I hate the sight of you!'

'Go on!' retorted the other, with mild bitterness. 'Abuse me as much as
you like, I can bear it. I shall continue to do my duty, and unless you
have recourse to personal violence, here I remain. If you go too far, of
course the law must defend me!'

This was precisely what Mr. Jordan knew and dreaded; the law was on his
wife's side, and by applying at a police-court for protection she could
overwhelm him with shame and ridicule, which would make life
intolerable. Impossible to argue with this woman. Say what he might, the
fault always seemed his. His wife was simply doing her duty--in a spirit
of admirable thoroughness; he, in the eyes of a third person, would
appear an unreasonable and violent curmudgeon. Had it not all sprung out
of his obstinacy with regard to reading at breakfast? How explain to
anyone what he suffered in his nerves, in his pride, in the outraged
habitudes of a lifetime?

That evening he did not return to Wood Green. Afraid of questions
if he showed himself in the old resorts, he spent some hours in a
billiard-room near King's Cross, and towards midnight took a bedroom
under the same roof. On going to business next day, he awaited with
tremors either a telegram or a visit from his wife; but the whole day
passed, and he heard nothing. After dark he walked once more about the
beloved streets, pausing now and then to look up at the windows of this
or that well remembered house. Ah, if he durst but enter and engage a
lodging! Impossible--for ever impossible!

He slept in the same place as on the night before. And again a day
passed without any sort of inquiry from Wood Green. When evening came
he went home.

Mrs. Jordan behaved as though he had returned from business in the usual
way. 'Is it raining?' she asked, with a half-smile. And her husband
replied, in as matter-of-fact a tone as he could command, 'No, it
isn't.' There was no mention between them of his absence. That night,
Mrs. Jordan talked for an hour or two of his bad habit of stepping on
the pain