"I know I did: but when dear Mrs. Badgerly mentioned the matter to me and a few friends, as we were all laughing at tea together, quite in a confidential way--when she just spoke of her husband's whiskers, and how long he was over 'em every morning--of course, poor soul! she never thought it was to be talked of in the world again. Eh? "THEN I HAD NO RIGHT TO TELL YOU OF IT? "And that's the way I'm thanked for my confidence. Because I don't keep a secret from you, but show you, I may say, my naked soul, Caudle, that's how I'm rewarded. Poor Mrs. Badgerly--for all her hard words--after she went away, I'm sure my heart quite bled for her. What do you say, Mr. Caudle? "SERVES HER RIGHT--SHE SHOULD HOLD HER TONGUE? "Yes; that's like your tyranny--you'd never let a poor woman speak. Eh--what, what, Mr. Caudle? "That's a very fine speech, I dare say; and wives are very much obliged to you, only there's not a bit of truth in it. No, we women don't get together, and pick our husbands to pieces, just as sometimes mischievous little girls rip up their dolls. That's an old sentiment of yours, Mr. Caudle; but I'm sure you've no occasion to say it of me. I hear a good deal of other people's husbands, certainly; I can't shut my ears; I wish I could: but I never say anything about you,--and I might, and you know it--and there's somebody else that knows it, too. No: I sit still and say nothing; what I have in my own bosom about you, Caudle, will be buried with me. But I know what you think of wives. I heard you talking to Mr. Prettyman, when you little thought I was listening, and you didn't know much what you were saying--I heard you. 'My dear Prettyman,' says you, 'when some women get talking, they club all their husbands' faults together; just as children club their cakes and apples, to make a common feast for the whole set.' Eh? "YOU DON'T REMEMBER IT? "But I do: and I remember, too, what brandy was left when Prettyman left. 'Twould be odd if you could remember much about it, after that. "And now you've gone and separated man and wife, and I'm to be blamed for it. You've not only carried misery into a family, but broken my confidence. You've proved to me that henceforth I'm not to trust you with anything, Mr. Caudle. No; I'll lock up whatever I know in my own breast,--for now I find nobody, not even one's own husband, is to be relied upon. From this moment, I may look upon myself as a solitary woman. Now, it's no use your trying to go to sleep. What do you say? "YOU KNOW THAT? "Very well. Now I want to ask you one question more. Eh? "YOU WANT TO ASK ME ONE? "Very well--go on--I'm not afraid to be catechised. I never dropped a syllable that as a wife I ought to have kept to myself--no, I'm not at all forgetting what I've said--and whatever you've got to ask me speak out at once. No--I don't want you to spare me; all I want you is to speak. "YOU WILL SPEAK? "Well then, do. "What?