he
remembrance of this, as he sat behind his newspaper, that made him
ultimately feel that he could not pass in silence over what had been
done.

Nevertheless, he went on reading, or pretending to read, as long as
the continuance of the breakfast made it certain that his wife would
remain with him. Every now and then he said some word to her of
what he was reading, endeavouring to use the tone of voice that was
customary to him in his domestic teachings of politics. But through
it all there was a certain hesitation,--there were the sure signs of
an attempt being made, of which he was himself conscious, and which
she understood with the most perfect accuracy. He was deferring the
evil moment, and vainly endeavouring to make himself believe that he
was comfortably employed the while. She had no newspaper, and made no
endeavour to deceive herself. She, therefore, was the first to begin
the conversation.

"Plantagenet," she said, "you told me last night, as I was going to
bed, that you had something to say about Lady Monk's party."

He put down the newspaper slowly, and turned towards her. "Yes, my
dear. After what happened, I believe that I must say something."

"If you think anything, pray say it," said Glencora.

"It is not always easy for a man to show what he thinks by what he
says," he replied. "My fear is that you should suppose me to think
more than I do. And it was for that reason that I determined to sleep
on it before I spoke to you."

"If anybody is angry with me I'd much rather they should have it out
with me while their anger is hot. I hate cold anger."

"But I am not angry."

"That's what husbands always say when they're going to scold."

"But I am not going to scold. I am only going to advise you."

"I'd sooner be scolded. Advice is to anger just what cold anger is to
hot."

"But, my dear Glencora, surely if I find it necessary to speak--"

"I don't want to stop you, Plantagenet. Pray, go on. Only it will be
so nice to have it over."

He was now more than ever averse to the task before him. Husbands,
when they give their wives a talking, should do it out of hand,
uttering their words hard, sharp, and quick,--and should then go.
There are some works that won't bear a preface, and this work of
marital fault-finding is one of them. Mr Palliser was already
beginning to find out the truth of this. "Glencora," he said, "I wish
you to be serious with me."

"I am very serious," she replied, as she