He went to the room where he carried on his correspondence. He managed to get three business letters done, and then he lost himself in thought. A boy came in, bringing letters just arrived. Several were unimportant, containing orders or inquiries connected with his stock of furniture. But one brought an exclamation to his lips. It was a bill!—and one that he did not at all expect. A long bill, too, weighty in its sum-total. Cragg glanced at the name heading the first sheet. He knew it as that of a large linen-draper in a neighbouring town. His wife often went there for her shopping. Being aware of her extravagant tendencies, he had always insisted that she should pay ready money for what she bought, except in the case of two or three specified Putworth shops, from which quarterly accounts came in. More than once in the past Mrs. Cragg had broken this rule. She had not done so lately, to his knowledge. He had had to complain of the extent of her Putworth bills; but he thought they comprised the whole of her expenses. Now he knew his mistake. Here were two long pages of items, ranging through twelve months past. The sum-total was startling. Troubles were already crowding upon him, and he could hardly see how to meet his liabilities. He put the paper down, and groaned aloud. Then he examined it afresh. Evidently it had been sent to Mrs. Cragg, and sent in vain. The draper, despairing of getting payment for his goods from her, had decided on an appeal to her husband. Cragg knew that he would have to pay it. He could not let his wife remain in debt. Yet—how to spare the money? A feeling of indignation swept over him. The manner in which she had behaved to Pattie made it harder for him to meet this patiently. The wife who should have been his help and stay was becoming a clog and a burden; something to be endured, instead of some one to be loved. And it was her own fault. Cragg wished to be a good husband. He had borne much patiently. Things now were getting beyond bearing. He stood up, sheet in hand, and walked to the sitting-room, where Mrs. Cragg was generally to be found. She was there, and so was Dot. "Dadda!" shrieked Dot in rapture. Cragg took her up, kissed her, and said: "Run away, my pet." "What's she to run away for?" "I want a few words with you." "If you're going to grumble, I'd rather not. Dot can stay." "I must have a few words with you," repeated Cragg, his manner unusually stern. "Run away, Dot darling." "All wite, dadda." Dot trotted off. "I want you to explain this bill to me." Cragg did not say "my dear." He was surprised and alarmed at his own resentment-a resentment piled up by one thing upon another. It was half for Pattie, half for himself, and it was increased by the sense of his wife's falsity. Mrs. Cragg looked at the sheet which he laid before her, and, as usual, hardened herself. "They'd no business to send that to you." "Where did you expect them to send it? How do you suppose you are going to pay it?"