“Well, who’d have thought we’d been married eight years! it doesn’t seem above eighteen months to me. And we’ve got on very well, haven’t we?” “My dear Edward, you are such a model husband. It quite embarrasses me sometimes.” “Ha, ha! that’s a good one. But I can say this for myself, I do try to do my duty. Of course at first we had our little tiffs--people have to get used to one another, and one can’t expect to have all plain sailing just at once. But for years now--well, ever since you went to Italy, I think, we’ve been as happy as the day is long, haven’t we?” “Yes, dear.” “When I look back at the little rumpuses we used to have, upon my word, I wonder what they were all about.” “So do I.” And this Bertha said quite truthfully. “I suppose it was just the weather.” “I dare say.” “Ah, well--all’s well that ends well.” “My dear Edward, you’re a philosopher.” “I don’t know about that--but I think I’m a politician; which reminds me that I’ve not read about the new men-of-war in to-day’s paper. What I’ve been agitating about for years is more ships and more guns--I’m glad to see the Government have taken my advice at last.” “It’s very satisfactory, isn’t it? It will encourage you to persevere. And, of course, it’s nice to know that the Cabinet read your speeches in the _Blackstable Times_.” “I think it would be a good sight better for the country if those in power paid more attention to provincial opinion. It’s men like me who really know the feeling of the nation. You might get me the paper, will you--it’s in the dining-room.” It seemed quite natural to Edward that Bertha should wait upon him: it was the duty of a wife. She handed him the _Standard_, and he began to read; he yawned once or twice. “Lord, I am sleepy.” Presently he could not keep his eyes open, the paper dropped from his hand, and he sank back in his chair with legs outstretched, his hands resting comfortably on his stomach. His head lolled to one side and his jaw dropped, and he began to snore. Bertha read. After a while he woke with a start. “Bless me, I do believe I’ve been asleep,” he cried. “Well, I’m dead tired, I think I shall go to bed. I suppose you won’t come up yet?” “Not just yet.” “Well, don’t stay up too late, there’s a good girl, it’s not good for you; and put the lights out properly when you come.” She turned to him her cheek, which he kissed, stifling a yawn; then he rolled upstairs. “There’s one advantage in Edward,” murmured Bertha. “No one could accuse him of being uxorious.” _Mariage à la mode._ * * * * *