He scowled across the table at her, and she tried to be pleasant and amusing. Then suddenly he had launched into the umbrella affair. “Young Traill wants kicking,” he said. “What are we all coming to, I should like to know? Why, the man's only been here a month or two, and he goes and takes a senior master's things without asking leave, and then knocks him down because he objects. I never heard anything like it. The fellow wants kicking out altogether.” Mrs. Comber said nothing. “Well, why don't you say something? You've got some opinion about it, I suppose; and there's more in it than that—he's gone and got himself engaged to Isabel, I hear. What's the girl thinking of? They 're both much too young anyhow. It's absurd. I 'll tell her what I think of it.” “Oh, no, Freddie—don't say anything to her. She's so happy about it, and I'm sure the dear girl has been so good to both of us that she deserves some happiness, and I do want them to be successful. After all, if Mr. Traill was a little hasty, he's very young, and Mr. Perrin 's a very difficult man to get on with. You know, dear, you've always said—” “Well, whatever I 've said,” he broke in furiously, “I 've never advocated stealing nor hitting your elders and betters in the face, and if you think I have, you 're mightily mistaken.” After that there was silence during the rest of the meal. Miss Desart was dining at the Squire's in the village, and, for once, Mrs. Comber was glad that the girl was not with them. She was very near to tears. The day had been a most terrible one—and her food choked her. The meal seemed to stretch into infinity, the dreary dining-room, the monotonous tick of the clock, and always her husband's scowling face. At last it was over, and he went to his study, and she to her little drawing-room. In front of her fire, her sewing slipped from her lap and she slept, with her purple dress shining in the firelight, and the rest of the room in shadow about her. And she dreamt wonderful dreams—of places where there was freedom and light, of hard, white roads and forests and cathedrals, and of a wonderful life where there was no travail nor ill-temper; and her face became happy again, and she saw Freddie as he had once been, before the shadow of this place had fallen about him, and in her dreams she was in a place where everyone loved her and she could make no mistakes. Then she woke up and saw Freddie Comber standing near her, and she smiled at him and then gave a little exclamation because the fire was nearly out. “Yes,” he said, following her glance, “it's a nice, cheerful room for a man to come into, isn't it, after he's tired and cold with work? I have got a nice, pleasant little wife. I'm a lucky man, I am.” Then, as she began to busy herself with the fire, and tried to brighten it, he said, “Oh! leave it now, can't you? What's the use of making a noise and fuss with it now?”