John hesitated ere he replied to these home questions. They had diverted the channel of his wrath, and had aroused the dormant spirit of curiosity within his breast. Here, perhaps, was the once earnestly wished-for opportunity of learning something concerning his dearly-loved Honor’s birth and belongings. It was singular, certainly, and not wholly satisfactory, that the channel of information should be a person for whom he felt so much dislike and contempt as Colonel Norcott. But because he both detested and scorned the medium, it did not follow that he should reject the offered intelligence--intelligence, too, which he felt perfectly convinced, both from Colonel Norcott’s manner and the singular step he had taken, was not altogether a matter to despise. In many respects at least, so decided John Beacham, he would be happier for discovering some particulars of Honor’s parentage. He was aware that his mother did occasionally (John little guessed how often) flout his little wife contemptuously, and talk “at her” in the way that women have the skill to do when aggravation is their aim and object. The romance attendant on mystery goes for nothing with women of Mrs. Beacham’s age and stamp; whilst a something nearly akin to disgrace is inseparable in their minds from a birth which is neither recorded in the parish register nor made honourable mention of in the flyleaf of the family Bible. But gladly as John would have listened to any hints calculated to throw a light on his wife’s antecedents, John Beacham yet shrunk with very natural repugnance from betraying, in Colonel Norcott’s presence, any marked interest in the subject. To disguise that interest was, however, a task far beyond his very feeble powers of dissimulation; nevertheless, the would-be diplomatist considered himself not wholly devoid of what he, in his simplicity, would have called “gumption,” when he responded after the following fashion to the fast London gentleman who had volunteered to address him on the sacred subject of his wife: “You’ve asked me questions, sir, which I consider that no man, unless under very particular circumstarnces, has a right to put to another. Whether there are or are not those circumstarnces remains to be shown; but if there are not, all I can say is that you had better by a good deal have kept your tongue quiet in your head, instead of speaking of what didn’t in any way concern you.” The effect of this exordium was not precisely what John either expected or intended, for the Colonel, making a movement as though about to turn on his heel, said carelessly, “O, if you take it in that way, I’ve no more to say. If you choose to answer my questions, I may, perhaps, be induced to do you a good turn. You are a man I should like to oblige, but you know as well as other people, Beacham, that one gets riled, disgusted in short, by being spoken to in that tone.”