“What about my feelings?” demanded his wife. “_You_ have got me,” Mr. Jobling reminded her. The nine points of the law was Mrs. Jobling’s only consolation for the next few days. Neighboring matrons, exchanging sympathy for information, wished, strangely enough, that Mr. Jobling was their husband. Failing that they offered Mrs. Jobling her choice of at least a hundred plans for bringing him to his senses. Mr. Jobling, who was a proud man, met their hostile glances as he passed to and from his work with scorn, until a day came when the hostility vanished and gave place to smiles. Never so many people in the street, he thought, as he returned from work; certainly never so many smiles. People came hurriedly from their back premises to smile at him, and, as he reached his door, Mr. Joe Brown opposite had all the appearance of a human sunbeam. Tired of smiling faces, he yearned for that of his wife. She came out of the kitchen and met him with a look of sly content. The perplexed Mr. Jobling eyed her morosely. “What are you laughing at me for?” he demanded. “I wasn’t laughing at you,” said his wife. She went back into the kitchen and sang blithely as she bustled over the preparations for tea. Her voice was feeble, but there was a triumphant effectiveness about the high notes which perplexed the listener sorely. He seated himself in the new easy-chair—procured to satisfy the supposed aesthetic tastes of Miss Robinson—and stared at the window. “You seem very happy all of a sudden,” he growled, as his wife came in with the tray. “Well, why shouldn’t I be?” inquired Mrs. Jobling. “I’ve got everything to make me so.” Mr. Jobling looked at her in undisguised amazement. “New easy-chair, new vases, and a new hearthrug,” explained his wife, looking round the room. “Did you order that little table you said you would?” “Yes,” growled Mr. Jobling. “Pay for it?” inquired his wife, with a trace of anxiety. “Yes,” said Mr. Jobling again. Mrs. Jobling’s face relaxed. “I shouldn’t like to lose it at the last moment,” she said. “You ’ave been good to me lately, Bill; buying all these nice things. There’s not many women have got such a thoughtful husband as what I have.” “Have you gone dotty? or what?” inquired her bewildered husband. “It’s no wonder people like you,” pursued Mrs. Jobling, ignoring the question, and smiling again as she placed three chairs at the table. “I’ll wait a minute or two before I soak the tea; I expect Miss Robinson won’t be long, and she likes it fresh.” Mr. Jobling, to conceal his amazement and to obtain a little fresh air walked out of the room and opened the front door. “Cheer oh!” said the watchful Mr. Brown, with a benignant smile. Mr. Jobling scowled at him. “It’s all right,” said Mr. Brown. “You go in and set down; I’m watching for her.”