“You found no fault when I was a miss at fifteen.” “Begad, madam, you are grown too old for a pinafore now; and I hold that 'tis for me to judge what company my wife shall see,” said my lord, slapping the table. “Indeed, Francis, I never thought otherwise,” answered my lady, rising and dropping him a curtsy, in which stately action, if there was obedience, there was defiance too; and in which a bystander, deeply interested in the happiness of that pair as Harry Esmond was, might see how hopelessly separated they were; what a great gulf of difference and discord had run between them. “By G-d! Mohun is the best fellow in England; and I'll invite him here, just to plague that woman. Did you ever see such a frigid insolence as it is, Harry? That's the way she treats me,” he broke out, storming, and his face growing red as he clenched his fists and went on. “I'm nobody in my own house. I'm to be the humble servant of that parson's daughter. By Jove! I'd rather she should fling the dish at my head than sneer at me as she does. She puts me to shame before the children with her d--d airs; and, I'll swear, tells Frank and Beaty that papa's a reprobate, and that they ought to despise me.” “Indeed and indeed, sir, I never heard her say a word but of respect regarding you,” Harry Esmond interposed. “No, curse it! I wish she would speak. But she never does. She scorns me, and holds her tongue. She keeps off from me, as if I was a pestilence. By George! she was fond enough of her pestilence once. And when I came a-courting, you would see miss blush--blush red, by George! for joy. Why, what do you think she said to me, Harry? She said herself, when I joked with her about her d--d smiling red cheeks: ''Tis as they do at St. James's; I put up my red flag when my king comes.' I was the king, you see, she meant. But now, sir, look at her! I believe she would be glad if I was dead; and dead I've been to her these five years--ever since you all of you had the small-pox: and she never forgave me for going away.” “Indeed, my lord, though 'twas hard to forgive, I think my mistress forgave it,” Harry Esmond said; “and remember how eagerly she watched your lordship's return, and how sadly she turned away when she saw your cold looks.” “Damme!” cries out my lord; “would you have had me wait and catch the small-pox? Where the deuce had been the good of that? I'll bear danger with any man--but not useless danger--no, no. Thank you for nothing. And--you nod your head, and I know very well, Parson Harry, what you mean. There was the--the other affair to make her angry. But is a woman never to forgive a husband who goes a-tripping? Do you take me for a saint?” “Indeed, sir, I do not,” says Harry, with a smile.