n eighteen shillings
the ton. Mr. Darnell had written to the landlord, a builder, who had
replied in an illiterate but offensive communication, maintaining the
excellence of the stove and charging all the faults to the account of
'your good lady,' which really implied that the Darnells kept no
servant, and that Mrs. Darnell did everything. The range, then,
remained, a standing annoyance and expense. Every morning, Alice said,
she had the greatest difficulty in getting the fire to light at all, and
once lighted it 'seemed as if it fled right up the chimney.' Only a few
nights before Mrs. Darnell had spoken seriously to her husband about it;
she had got Alice to weigh the coals expended in cooking a cottage pie,
the dish of the evening, and deducting what remained in the scuttle
after the pie was done, it appeared that the wretched thing had consumed
nearly twice the proper quantity of fuel.

'You remember what I said the other night about the range?' said Mrs.
Darnell, as she poured out the tea and watered the leaves. She thought
the introduction a good one, for though her husband was a most amiable
man, she guessed that he had been just a little hurt by her decision
against his furnishing scheme.

'The range?' said Darnell. He paused as he helped himself to the
marmalade and considered for a moment. 'No, I don't recollect. What
night was it?'

'Tuesday. Don't you remember? You had "overtime," and didn't get home
till quite late.'

She paused for a moment, blushing slightly; and then began to
recapitulate the misdeeds of the range, and the outrageous outlay of
coal in the preparation of the cottage pie.

'Oh, I recollect now. That was the night I thought I heard the
nightingale (people say there are nightingales in Bedford Park), and the
sky was such a wonderful deep blue.'

He remembered how he had walked from Uxbridge Road Station, where the
green 'bus stopped, and in spite of the fuming kilns under Acton, a
delicate odour of the woods and summer fields was mysteriously in the
air, and he had fancied that he smelt the red wild roses, drooping from
the hedge. As he came to his gate he saw his wife standing in the
doorway, with a light in her hand, and he threw his arms violently about
her as she welcomed him, and whispered something in her ear, kissing her
scented hair. He had felt quite abashed a moment afterwards, and he was
afraid that he had frightened her by his nonsense; she seemed trembling
and confused.