Mr. Poole was in his parlour, reading letters and sorting papers, before he departed to his office in the West End. Mrs. Poole entered, leading an infant who had not yet learned to walk alone, and denoting, by an interesting enlargement of shape, a kindly design to bless that infant, at no distant period, with a brother or sister, as the case might be. "Come and kiss Pa, Johnny," said she to the infant. "Mrs. Poole, I am busy," growled Pa. "Pa's busy--working hard for little Johnny. Johnny will be better for it some day," said Mrs. Poole, tossing the infant half up to the ceiling, in compensation for the loss of the paternal kiss. "Mrs. Poole, what do you want?" "May I hire Jones's brougham for two hours to-day, to pay visits? There are a great many cards we ought to leave; is there any place where I should leave a card for you, lovey--any person of consequence you were introduced to at Mrs. Haughton's last night? That great man they were all talking about, to whom you seemed to take such a fancy, Samuel, duck--" "Do get out! that man insulted me, I tell you." "Insulted you! No; you never told me." "I did tell you last night coming home." "Dear me, I thought you meant that Mr. Hartopp." "Well, he almost insulted me, too. Mrs. Poole, you are stupid and disagreeable. Is that all you have to say?" "Pa's cross, Johnny dear! poor Pa!--people have vexed Pa, Johnny-- naughty people. We must go or we shall vex him too." Such heavenly sweetness on the part of a forbearing wife would have softened Tamburlane. Poole's sullen brow relaxed. If women knew how to treat men, not a husband, unhenpecked, would be found from Indos to the Pole. And Poole, for all his surly demeanour, was as completely governed by that angel as a bear by his keeper. "Well, Mrs. Poole, excuse me. I own I am out of sorts to-day--give me little Johnny--there (kissing the infant; who in return makes a dig at Pa's left eye, and begins to cry on finding that he has not succeeded in digging it out)--take the brougham. Hush, Johnny--hush--and you may leave a card for me at Mr. Peckham's, Harley Street. My eye smarts horribly; that baby will gouge me one of these days." Mrs. Poole had succeeded in stilling the infant, and confessing that Johnny's fingers are extremely strong for his age--but, adding that babies will catch at whatever is very bright and beautiful, such as gold and jewels and Mr. Poole's eyes, administers to the wounded orb so soothing a lotion of pity and admiration that Poole growls out quite mildly: "Nonsense, blarney--by the by, I did not say this morning that you should not have the rosewood chiffoniere!" "No, you said you could not afford it, duck; and when Pa says he can't afford it, Pa must be the judge--must not he, Johnny dear?" "But perhaps I can afford it. Yes, you may have it yes, I say, you shall have it. Don't forget to leave that card on Peckham--he's a moneyed man. There's a ring at the bell. Who is it? run and see."