What's the good of being so squeamish,
and talking such nonsense? We've both had enough of this place, and,
without anything to trouble me, I should never touch a drop from month's
end to month's end."

"No, John--no, John," she said, disengaging herself from the arm that he
had put round her. "I'll never marry a man who drinks. I'd give you my
bit of money if I thought it would do you good; but you've drunk till
it's made you hard, and cruel, and suspicious, and wicked; and, though
I've never said nothing, I've thought about all your wicked hints and
suspicions. And as to being tied up to a man who was going to get money
by telling lies of other people, I'd sooner go down and jump into the
lake--that I would!"

"'Tisn't lies," said Gurdon, sulkily: "it's truth, and you know it is."

"It is not, you bad, wicked fellow!" cried Jane, firing up, and stamping
one foot upon the floor.

"'Tis truth, and he knows it too, my fine, fierce madam!"

"What! have you dared to say a word, or drop one of your nasty,
underhanded hints?" cried Jane.

"Never mind," said Gurdon, maliciously. "I've not studied him all these
years for nothing. Perhaps I know something about letters--perhaps I
don't; perhaps I've seen somebody savage about somebody else taking long
walks, after being sulky and upset about what's to happen now after all
these years; perhaps I haven't seen anything of the kind, but I ain't
blind. I haven't forgotten what took place six years ago, and now we're
going--good luck to us!--to have an anniversary. I hope everybody will
be there to keep it, that's all I've got to say."

"Oh, you serpent!" cried Jane, pale with rage. "You bad, wicked fellow!
You're like the scorpion in the Holy Bible, you are, that turns to rend
the hand that fed it. Oh!" she cried, growing gradually more and more
furious, "to think that I've wasted all my best days about such a
traitor--such a cruel, malicious, spiteful, dirty story-teller! Shame
on you! How dare you, you villain, hint at such wickedness about my
poor dear sweet mistress, whose dear heart is as pure as an angel's--a
sweet, suffering lamb?"

"A sweet, suffering lamb, indeed!" cried Gurdon, savagely. "Yah!
There's a pair of you--she-wolves, more likely."

"Then I'll be the wolf that shall shake such a nasty lying cur as you!"
cried Jane, furiously. "Go down on your knees, you wicked--wicked--
nasty--story-telling--villain--you, or I'll shake all the breath out