--"'the necessity of making up your mind, my angel, to----'" ("Row the plumber for infamous condition of back kitchen sink.") --"'to return all the wretch's letters, and----'" ("Speak to the haberdasher about patching Jack's shirts.") --"'all his letters and presents, darling. You need only make them up into a parcel, and write inside----'" ("Matilda! is that all?") --"'and write inside----'" ("Pamby! is that all?") --"'and write inside----'" ("Nurse! is that all?") "'I have my mother's sanction for making one last request to you. It is this----'" ("What have the children got for dinner to-day?") --"'it is this: Return me my letters, as I have returned yours. You will find inside----'" ("A shoulder of mutton and onion sauce? And a devilish good dinner, too.") The coarse wretch roared out those last shocking words cheerfully, at the top of his voice. Hitherto, Lady Malkinshaw had preserved her temper with the patience of an angel; but she began--and who can wonder?--to lose it, at last. "It is really impossible, my dear," she said, rising from her chair, "to continue any conversation while that very intolerable person persists in talking to his family from his front garden. No! I really cannot go on--I cannot, indeed." Just as I was apologising to my sweet friend for the second time, I observed, to my great relief (having my eye still on the window) that the odious major had apparently come to the end of his domestic business for that morning, and had made up his mind at last to relieve us of his presence. I distinctly saw him put his tablets back in his pocket, wheel round again on his heel, and march straight to the garden gate. I waited until he had his hand on the lock to open it, and then, when I felt that we were quite safe, I informed dear Lady Malkinshaw that my detestable neighbour had at last taken himself off, and, throwing open the window again to get a little air, begged and entreated her to oblige me by resuming her charming narrative. "Where was I?" inquired my distinguished friend. "You were telling me what you recommended your poor darling to write inside her enclosure," I answered. "Ah, yes--so I was. Well, my dear, she controlled herself by an admirable effort, and wrote exactly what I told her. You will excuse a mother's partiality, I am sure--but I think I never saw her look so lovely--so mournfully lovely, I should say--as when she was writing those last lines to the man who had so basely trifled with her. The tears came into my eyes as I looked at her sweet pale cheeks; and I thought to myself----" ("Nurse! which of the children was sick, last time, after eating onion sauce?") He had come back again!--the monster had come back again, from the very threshold of the garden gate, to shout that unwarrantably atrocious question in at his nursery window!