Mrs. Jobling permitted herself a thin, derisive cackle, drowned hurriedly in a clatter of tea-cups as her husband turned and looked angrily up the little passage. “Nag! nag! nag!” said Mr. Jobling. He paused expectantly. “Nag! nag! nag! from morning till night,” he resumed. “It begins in the morning and it goes on till bedtime.” “It’s a pity—” began Mrs. Jobling. “Hold your tongue,” said her husband, sternly; “I don’t want any of your back answers. It goes on all day long up to bedtime, and last night I laid awake for two hours listening to you nagging in your sleep.” He paused again. “Nagging in your sleep,” he repeated. There was no reply. “Two hours!” he said, invitingly; “two whole hours, without a stop.” “I ’ope it done you good,” retorted his wife. “I noticed you did wipe one foot when you come in to-night.” Mr. Jobling denied the charge hotly, and, by way of emphasizing his denial, raised his foot and sent the mat flying along the passage. Honor satisfied, he returned to the door-post and, looking idly out on the street again, exchanged a few desultory remarks with Mr. Joe Brown, who, with his hands in his pockets, was balancing himself with great skill on the edge of the curb opposite. His gaze wandered from Mr. Brown to a young and rather stylishly-dressed woman who was approaching—a tall, good-looking girl with a slight limp, whose hat encountered unspoken feminine criticism at every step. Their eyes met as she came up, and recognition flashed suddenly into both faces. “Fancy seeing you here!” said the girl. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise.” She held out her hand, and Mr. Jobling, with a fierce glance at Mr. Brown, who was not behaving, shook it respectfully. “I’m so glad to see you again,” said the girl; “I know I didn’t thank you half enough the other night, but I was too upset.” “Don’t mention it,” said Mr. Jobling, in a voice the humility of which was in strong contrast to the expression with which he was regarding the antics of Mr. Brown, as that gentleman wafted kisses to the four winds of heaven. There was a pause, broken by a short, dry cough from the parlor window. The girl, who was almost touching the sill, started nervously. “It’s only my missis,” said Mr. Jobling. The girl turned and gazed in at the window. Mr. Jobling, with the stem of his pipe, performed a brief ceremony of introduction. “Good-evening,” said Mrs. Jobling, in a thin voice. “I don’t know who you are, but I s’pose my ’usband does.” “I met him the other night,” said the girl, with a bright smile; “I slipped on a piece of peel or something and fell, and he was passing and helped me up.” Mrs. Jobling coughed again. “First I’ve heard of it,” she remarked. “I forgot to tell you,” said Mr. Jobling, carelessly. “I hope you wasn’t hurt much, miss?” “I twisted my ankle a bit, that’s all,” said the girl; “it’s painful when I walk.” “Painful now?” inquired Mr. Jobling, in concern. The girl nodded. “A little; not very.”