To all these questions, and many more as puzzling, Mr. Andrews could give no well considered answer. He felt the necessity of appearing to know a little about the ordering of his household; his dealings with men had taught him that ignorance is fatal to authority, and strangely and sadly as the sexes differed, there must be some general points of resemblance. It would not do to let this trim young creature, with her black eyes and her white apron, respectful as yet, standing at the gate in an attitude of attention, know that he had never known who did the wash in his house, or whether there was a regular dinner in the middle of the day, or whether the cook ever went out, or how many evenings belonged to the waitress. He said rather lamely that he had only come to see if she were disengaged; he had not time to talk these details over. If she were at liberty, she might come the next morning at ten, and he would make final arrangements with her. She respectfully consented to this, but it is highly probable that she saw through the maneuver, and knew that "time" was what her future master wanted, and that there was a good deal in her catechism that was new to him. He knew, or feared this knowledge on her part, and went slowly away on his milk-white steed, much humbled and perplexed. The decent man took his horse and cared for it, but he let himself into the house with a feeling of his helplessness. He had matches, thanks to being a smoker, but he did not know how to fill a lamp, and of course all the lamps were empty. Every one knows that a candle does not give a cheerful light in a wide room. So he tried two candles, but they blinked at each other feebly, they were almost worse than one. It was almost impossible to read the evening paper; he would conclude it was time to go to bed. So he poured himself out a glass of wine, not having the heart (or the chance) to eat a meal, and went up-stairs. His bed had not been made; there was no water in the pitchers. The windows had been closed, and the room was not fresh. He made up his mind that he could not sleep there; he went into another room, entering into a calculation how many nights the beds would last, and when he should have to take to the sofas. Another day dawned on this anarchy. He had no hot water for his shaving; he did not know where fresh towels were, the keys of the closets being all at the bottom of the cistern. (A parting shot of malice from Alphonsine, though he did not know it.) After a wretched bath, with towels in which he had no confidence, he went out into the damp morning, and getting on his horse, went down to the village barber, and then to the village inn for breakfast.