"I am sure I'm very sorry, my dear," began Mr. Montagu.
"Oh, spare your sorrow," exclaimed his wife—"for I'm sure you don't care one single straw about me. You're a cruel man—"
"Hadn't I better read the letter?" asked Clara, trembling at the thought of the domestic sparring she saw about to ensue.
"Yes, yes! read, my dear," said her father, glad of any pretext to avert the coming storm: for though he seldom disturbed himself about any thing, provided his study was not swept oftener than once a month, and he was not obliged to submit to the insupportable fatigue of arranging his ideas in the tense form, necessary for conversation; he had yet a most inconceivable horror of his wife's fluency of tongue, thus affording a striking proof of the ingratitude of mortals, who often ungraciously find fault with the very things for which they have most occasion to be thankful; as it must be allowed that nothing could really be more convenient for a man of a taciturn disposition, than to have a wife who could manage to talk at once for him and herself too.
