be! Look, George, dear. Why don't they go indoors out of the rain?"
Farrell, the smile still upon his lips, turned his face towards her as he stooped.
"Who, child?"
"Why, those women,"said his wife, pitifully, "why don't they go home? They keep coming backwards and forwards. I've seen the same faces pass several times. And they look so bleak and wretched, with those horrid tawdry dresses. No one ought to be out to-night."
The poker fell from Farrell's hand with a clatter upon the fender.
"Damn them!" he cried, in a fierce, harsh voice.
The girl pulled the curtain back, and looked at him.
"Darling," she said, plaintively, "what is it? Why do you say such horrible things?"
Farrell's face was coloured with passion; he stood staring angrily at her.
"George, George,"she said, coming to him, "why are you so angry with me? Oughtn't I to be sorry for them? I can't help it; it seems so sad. I know they're not nice people. They're dreadful, dear, of course. I've always heard that," and she laid her face against his breast. "But it can't be good for them to be out this wretched night, even if they are wicked."
She pressed against him as for sympathy, but Farrell made no response. A fearful tension held his arms and body in a kind of paralysis; but presently he patted her head softly, and put her gently from him.
"I'm in a very bad temper to-night, dear "he said, slowly. "I suppose I ought to go to bed and hide myself till I'm better."
She clung to him still. "Don't put me away, George. I don't
