to pieces on the fender.]

"And I'd do it again," said that lady, breathlessly, "if there was
another vase."

Mr. Hatchard opened his mouth, but speech failed him. He got up and left
the room without a word, and, making his way to the scullery, turned on
the tap and held his head beneath it. A sharp intake of the breath
announced that a tributary stream was looking for the bump down the neck
of his shirt.

He was away a long time--so long that the half-penitent Mrs. Hatchard was
beginning to think of giving first aid to the wounded. Then she heard
him coming slowly back along the passage. He entered the room, drying
his wet hair on a hand-kerchief.

"I--I hope I didn't hurt you--much?" said his wife.

Mr. Hatchard drew himself up and regarded her with lofty indignation.

"You might have killed me," he said at last, in thrilling tones. "Then
what would you have done?"

"Swept up the pieces, and said you came home injured and died in my
arms," said Mrs. Hatchard, glibly. "I don't want to be unfeeling, but
you'd try the temper of a saint. I'm sure I wonder I haven't done it
before. Why I married a stingy man I don't know."

"Why I married at all I don't know," said her husband, in a deep voice.

"We were both fools," said Mrs. Hatchard, in a resigned voice; "that's
what it was. However, it can't be helped now."

"Some men would go and leave you," said Mr. Hatchard.

"Well, go," said his wife, bridling. "I don't want you."

"Don't talk nonsense," said the other.

"It ain't nonsense," said Mrs. Hatchard. "If you want to go, go.
I don't want to keep you."

"I only wish I could," said her husband, wistfully.

"There's the door," said Mrs. Hatchard, pointing. "What's to prevent
you?"

"And have you going to the magistrate?" observed Mr. Hatchard.

"Not me," was the reply.

"Or coming up, full of complaints, to the ware-house?"

"Not me," said his wife again.

"It makes my mouth water to think of it," said Mr. Hatchard. "Four years
ago I hadn't a care in the world."

"Me neither," said Mrs. Hatchard; "but then I never thought I should
marry you. I remember the first time I saw you I had to stuff my
handkerchief in my mouth."

"What for?" inquired Mr. Hatchard.

"Keep from laughing," was the reply.

"You took care not to let me see you laugh," said Mr. Hatchard, grimly.
"You were polite enough in them days. I only wish I could have my time
over again; that's all."

"You can go,