an hour. I only hope you'll get a better wife, that's all, Mr. Caudle. What?
"You'd not try?
"Wouldn't you? I know you. In six months you'd fill up my place; yes, and dreadfully my dear children would suffer for it.
"Caudle, if you roar in that way, the people will give us warning to-morrow.
"Can't I be quiet, then?
"Yes—that's like your artfulness: anything to make me hold my tongue. But we won't quarrel. I'm sure if it depended upon me, we might be as happy as doves. I mean it—and you needn't groan when I say it. Good-night, Caudle. What do you say?
"Bless me!
"Well, you are a dear soul, Caudle; and if it wasn't for that Miss Prettyman—no, I'm not torturing you. I know very well what I'm doing, and I wouldn't torture you for the world; but you don't know what the feelings of a wife are, Caudle; you don't.
"Caudle—I say, Caudle. Just a word, dear.
"Well?
"Now, why should you snap me up in that way?
"You want to go to sleep?
"So do I; but that's no reason you should speak to me in that manner. You know, dear, you once promised to take me to France.
"You don't recollect it?
"Yes—that's like you; you don't recollect many things you've promised me; but I do. There's a boat goes on Wednesday to Boulogne, and comes back the day afterwards.
"What of it?
