y--I had such a splitting
headache this morning, and I haven't a sou left."

"And how many sous do you suppose _I_ have left?" the wife demands with
flashing eyes. "I paid the landlord the rent to-day, and I have to buy
coal to-morrow. Oysters!" she laughs, scornfully. "I have forgotten what
they are. As to your headache--probably if you had drank less whiskey
last night, you would not have suffered so severely this morning. What
there is in the house you are welcome to. I shall send for nothing."

The lips tighten still more--she goes resolutely on with her writing.

Mr. Thorndyke relieves his mind by an oath and a growl, as he flings
himself heavily upon a lounge. His wife writes on and pays no attention.
She has grown accustomed to be sworn at--it hardly affects her now.

He lies and watches her with gloomy eyes. Those three years have changed
him deepening the reckless, dissipated look worn and aged him strangely.
Handsome he is still, but haggard, the brilliant eyes dimmed and
bloodshot, the hand tremulous, an habitual scowl on his brow.

"What does Gilbert pay you for that bosh?" he asked.

"About three times as much as he would pay any one else. You see he knew
my father, and doesn't care to look on and see my father's daughter
starve. Be kind enough not to talk to me, Mr. Thorndyke--I don't wish to
make mistakes."

"Day has been when you liked to have me talk to you well enough,"
retorts, Mr. Thorndyke, with another sullen oath.

"Yes, I was a fool--no need to remind me of it. No one can regret it
more than I do. Happily that day is past. _You_ have cured me signally
of my folly."

There is a pause. Mrs. Thorndyke immovably writes. Mr. Thorndyke lies
sullenly and looks on. At last--

"She has come," he says, abruptly.

His wife lifts her eyes.

"Mrs Liston-Darcy--devil take her! And I am a going to see her
to-night!"

Still that silent questioning gaze.

"I met Allison out there--_he_ hasn't cut me if all the rest have; and
she is to be at a party at his house. I am going."

"May I ask why? What can you possibly have to say to Mr. Darcy's
heiress?"

"I shall see her, at least. They tell me she is pretty. I must own I
always had a weakness for pretty and pleasant women. I must own also I
never see one at home."

Her eyes flash at the sneer.

"I am quite aware, Mr. Thorndyke, of your predilection for pretty women.
Haven't you paid rather dearly though for the fancy? Was the brief
society of