“I'm sure a poor woman had better be in her grave than married! That is, if she can't be married to a decent man! No: I don't care if you are tired, I _shan't_, let you go to sleep. No, and I won't say what I have to say in the morning; I'll say it now. It's all very well for you to come home at what time you like--it's now half-past twelve--and expect I'm to hold my tongue, and let you go to sleep. What next, I wonder? A woman had better be sold for a slave at once. “And so you've gone and joined a club! The Skylarks, indeed! A pretty skylark you 'll make of yourself! But I won't stay and be ruined by you. No: I'm determined of that. I 'll go and take the dear children, and you may get who you like to keep your house. That is, as long as you have a house to keep--and that won't be long, know. “How any decent man can go and spend his nights in a tavern!--oh, yes, Mr. Caudle; I dare say you _do_ go for rational conversation. I should like to know how many of you would care for what you call rational conversation, if you had it without your filthy brandy-and-water; yes, and your more filthy tobacco-smoke. I'm sure the last time you came home, I had the head-ache for a week. But I know who it is who's taking you to destruction. It's that brute, Prettyman. He has broken his own poor wife's heart, and now he wants to--but don't you think it, Mr. Caudle; I'll not have my peace of mind destroyed by the best man that ever trod. Oh, yes! I know you don't care so long as you can appear well to all the world,--but the world little thinks how you behave to me. It shall know it, though--that I'm determined. “How any man can leave his own happy fireside to go and sit, and smoke, and drink, and talk with people who wouldn't one of 'em lift a finger to save him from hanging--how any man can leave his wife--and a good wife, too, though I say it--for a parcel of pot-companions--oh, it's disgraceful, Mr. Caudle: it's unfeeling. No man who had the least love for his wife could do it.