“This is how you visit your wife, is it, Mr. Frederick Eastwood?--Three mortal hours have I been left alone without a creature to speak to but aunty. How dare you face me after that? how dare you? I have a hundred minds never to speak to you again----” “That would be to punish yourself more than me, my dear,” said Frederick, with the conventional speech of the injured husband. She looked at his careless smile, and her fury increased. “I should like to throw something at you,” she cried. “You cold, wicked, careless, unprincipled wretch! Was it for this you married me, and pretended to be fond of me? Was it for this you took me from my father, who was always so kind? Was it for this----” “Of course it was for all that,” said Frederick, advancing to the bedside. “We have gone through the list before. Amanda, try to keep your temper; it will be the best thing for you. Here is Innocent, whom I found in the Minster, and who has come to pay you a visit. Miss Vane is coming on Monday to fetch her; and if you play your cards well----” Amanda interrupted him by a shrill laugh. “Oh, so here is Innocent! and the old nun is coming?--a great deal I care! This is how you try to hoodwink me. Innocent, come here! How long has he been walking about with you, talking, and holding your hand, and turning your head, you little fool? You think he cares? He cares as much for you as he does for me; he cares for no one but himself. Oh, go away, or I shall throw something at you! Go away, or----” She had put out her hand to clutch at a glass which stood by her on a little table. “Go! Go!” cried some one from behind the curtain. Frederick made a rapid step to the door, but before he had reached it his wife’s mood had changed. “Oh, _you_ tell him to go, do you?” she cried. “Then I tell him to stay. Come here, Innocent; you shall stay and nurse me; I know you’ll like it; and, Fred, turn that woman out--turn her off, turn her out of doors. She has been my plague ever since I can recollect. Oh, you thought you would keep me all to yourself, did you, and get the better of me? but I haven’t got a husband for nothing. Fred, turn her out of doors.” Frederick opened the door with servile haste. He dragged the poor aunty, the _souffre-douleur_ of the household, out by the sleeve, escaping himself along with her. Amanda leant back upon her pillow, laying her hand upon her breast. “How hot it is,” she said, panting. “Open the window--take this fan and fan me; can’t you make yourself useful? Oh, you are well named; you are a true Innocent! If you will tell me all that he was saying to you, I will forgive you. Tell me what he said.” “He told me that I was to come and see you; that I was not to be frightened,” said the girl, who was trembling, yet not confused by mental dread, as she had sometimes felt on less occasion. “And are you frightened?”