“What a confounded nuisance!” he exclaimed, planting himself autocratically upon the rug, with his back towards the empty fire-grate. “Another day lost, and Vavasour, who--” He stopped short, not in confusion; Fred was not the man to be easily what is called flabbergasted, but there were limits, and very strongly marked ones too, to his confidential intercourse with Mrs. N., and these he probably felt that he had been on the point of overstepping. “You ought to have known,” he went on peevishly, “that it is of consequence to me--that I am anxious, in short, to have Honor here, and what the d--l made you think for yourself in the matter is more than I can guess. Come now, out with it,” he continued, growing momentarily more irritated, and in proportion as the poor colonial heiress seemed disposed to silence, working himself up to a determination that she should give a reason for the fear that was in her; “out with it! I suppose you have some excuse for not doing as I wished, and that excuse I am standing on this rug to hear.” Thus apostrophised, the unlucky woman had no choice but to obey, which she prepared to do in evident trepidation and discomposure. “Now, Frederick,” she began, putting a large bony hand to her brow, “you really might have a little mercy on my poor ’ead” (as if, _par parenthèse_, any man ever had much pity on a plain wife with big fingers, who dropped her h’s and bored him with her ailments); “I’ve got the most dreadful ’eadache, and your voice this morning does go through it so! About Mrs. Beacham I really thought--” “Go on, will you?” growled the Colonel. “Well, I really thought, now I did indeed, that it would never do. In the first place, though I didn’t see much of her ’usband, it was plain enough to me that he’s not the kind of man to let his wife go gadding off to London; and even if he did, why, Frederick, how in the name of goodness are we to make her comfortable here? Unless you gave up your bedroom--” “O, hang that!” from Colonel Fred. “Well, but unless you did, there’s no place for her to sleep in but the attic next to mine. I would let her have mine,” continued the good-natured woman, “but that’s small and wretched enough; however, there’s no use, I’m certain, in talking of it, for Mr. Beacham would as soon see her go up in a balloon as set off by herself to London.” Apparently, the Colonel was a little taken aback by the force of his wife’s arguments, for he paused a while before he replied, and then said, almost hesitatingly: “The only thing would be to say that I am ill. Honor would come directly then. That blockhead of a horse-breaker has scruples of conscience about that disgusting crack over the skull he gave me, and would never refuse his wife leave to come, if he had the most remote idea that I was still suffering from the effects of the blow.”