"Wash your hands, Titmouse, before dinner?" But Titmouse said he had washed them before he had come out. [The day was hot, and he had walked five miles at a slapping pace.] In a few minutes, however, he felt a little more assured; it being impossible for him not to perceive the awful deference with which he was treated. "Seen the _Sunday Flash_, mem?" he presently inquired, very modestly, addressing Mrs. Tag-rag. "I--I--that is--not _to-day_," she replied, coloring. "Vastly amusing, isn't it?" interposed Tag-rag, to prevent mischief--for he knew his wife would as soon have taken a cockatrice into her hand. "Ye--e--s," replied Titmouse, who had not even glanced at the copy which Snap had brought him. "An uncommon good fight between Birmingham Big"---- Tag-rag saw his wife getting redder and redder. "No news stirring about things in general, is there?" said he, with a desperate attempt at a diversion. "Not that I have heard," replied Titmouse. Soon he got a little farther, and said how cheerful the stages going past must make the house. Tag-rag agreed with him. Then there was a little pause. None of the party knew exactly which way to look, nor in what posture to sit. Faint "hems" were occasionally heard. In short, no one felt _at home_. "Been to church, mem, this morning, mem?" timidly inquired Titmouse of Miss Tag-rag--the first time of his daring to address her. "Yes, sir," she replied, faintly coloring, casting her eyes to the ground, and suddenly putting her hand into that of her mother--with _such_ an innocent, engaging simplicity--like a timid fawn lying as close as possible to its dam![13] "We always go to _chapel_, sir," said Mrs. Tag-rag, confidently, in spite of a deadly look from her husband; "the _gospel_ a'n't preached in the Church of England! We sit under Mr. Horror--a heavenly preacher! You've heard of Mr. Horror?" "Yes, mem! Oh, yes! Capital preacher!" replied Titmouse, who of course (being a true churchman) had never in his life heard of Mr. Horror, or any other dissenter. "When _will_ dinner be ready, Mrs. T.?" inquired Tag-rag, abruptly, and with a very perceptible dash of sternness in his tone; but dinner was announced the very next moment. He took his wife's arm, and in doing so, gave it a sudden vehement pressure, which, coupled with a furious glance, explained to her the extent to which she had incurred his anger!