Never did a more lovely day dawn than that Sunday in August. Not another word upon the subject had been exchanged between Mr. Lake and his wife since the visit of the Miss Jupps; she shunned it, feeling half ashamed of herself for her persistent folly; he had given the matter up for a bad job. After breakfast they stood together, looking from the open window. The church bells rang out; Mr. Lake's time for departure was drawing near. "I must not miss the train," he carelessly observed. "'Twould be a pity to lose the excursion such a morning as this." "It is a most beautiful day," she sighed. "I almost envy you." "Clara," he said, turning to her with a sudden seriousness of manner, "I ask you to be yourself. Lay aside this folly, and act as a reasonable woman ought. Put on your things and come with us." She moved closer to him and spoke deprecatingly, "Do not be angry with me, Robert; I believe I am doing right to remain away. I must remain." "Well, of all the simpletons that ever walked, you are about the worst," was his complimentary rejoinder as he caught up his gloves. "Good-bye, Clary," he added, stooping to kiss her. "Oh, Robert, I hope you will come back safely!" she said, clinging to him as if she feared he was going away for ever; and the tone of her voice, full of mournful wailing, struck upon the ear of her husband. Nevertheless he went off laughing, telling her not to fear--that he'd come back with all his legs and wings about him. On the platform he met Louisa and Rose Jupp under the convoy of their brother. "Then actually Mrs. Lake is _not_ coming!" exclaimed Louisa. "And I have only come to see you off," was Mr. Lake's response. "I am not going on to Guild." "Oh, you barbarous deceiver!" quoth Rose. "Where are you going?" "To church, as a respectable individual of modern society ought." "I tell you what, Lake," interrupted Oliver Jupp, a dark, short young man, quiet and sensible, "this is not fair. These girls entrapped me into taking them, on the strength that you were to be one of the party, and it's too bad to shuffle off it." "So it is," returned Mr. Lake. "But you must talk to my wife about it. I am the most hopelessly henpecked husband your worst fancy ever pictured; Caudle was nothing to it." The train went smoothly off, and Mr. Lake returned home. His wife was leisurely attiring herself for church. She started when she saw him. "Why, Robert, what has happened?" "Nothing. The boiler has not gone up yet; that calamity is expected to take place midway between here and Guild." "Why have you come back?" "I came back because I have got a silly child for my wife," he said, standing in front of her, and speaking half tenderly, half severely. "One who would have worried her foolish heart into a fever, had I gone, believing I should never come back alive."