“‘My name’s Mrs. Wrench,’ says she; ’and if you take your hat off and stand up while I’m talking to you it will be more what I’m accustomed to.’

“Well, that staggered him a bit; but there didn’t seem anything else to be done, so he just made as if he thought it funny, though I doubt if at the time he saw the full humour of it.

“’And now, what do you want?” says she, seating herself in front of her desk, and leaving him standing, first on one leg and then on the other, twiddling his hat in his hands.

“‘I’ve been a bad husband to you, Susan,’ begins he.

“‘I could have told you that,’ she answers.  ’What I asked you was what you wanted.’

“‘I want for us to let bygones be bygones,’ says he.

“‘That’s quite my own idea,’ says she, ’and if you don’t allude to the past, I shan’t.’

“‘You’re an angel, Susan,’ says he.

“‘I’ve told you once,’ answers she, ’that my name’s Mrs. Wrench.  I’m Susan to my friends, not to every broken-down tramp looking for a job.’

“‘Ain’t I your husband?’ says he, trying a bit of dignity.

“She got up and took a glance through the glass-door to see that nobody was there to overhear her.

“‘For the first and last time,’ says she, ’let you and me understand one another.  I’ve been eleven years without a husband, and I’ve got used to it.  I don’t feel now as I want one of any kind, and if I did it wouldn’t be your sort.  Eleven years ago I wasn’t good enough for you, and now you’re not good enough for me.’

“‘I want to reform,’ says he.

“‘I want to see you do it,’ says she.

“‘Give me a chance,’ says he.

“‘I’m going to,’ says she; ’but it’s going to be my experiment this time, not yours.  Eleven years ago I didn’t give you satisfaction, so you turned me out of doors.’

“‘You went, Susan,’ says he; ‘you know it was your own idea.’

“‘Don’t you remind me too much of the circumstances,’ replies she, turning on him with a look in her eyes that was probably new to him, ’I went because there wasn’t room for two of us; you know that.  The other kind suited you better.  Now I’m going to see whether you suit me,’ and she sits herself again in her landlady’s chair.

“‘In what way?’ says he.

“‘In the way of earning your living,’ says she, ’and starting on the road to becoming a decent member of society.’

“He stood for a while cogitating.

“‘Don’t you think,’ says he at last, ’as I could manage this hotel for you?’

“‘Thanks,’ says she; ‘I’m doing that myself.’

“‘What about looking to the financial side of things,’ says he, ’and keeping the accounts?  It’s hardly your work.’

“‘Nor yours either,’ answers she drily, ’judging by the way you’ve been keeping your own.’

“‘You wouldn’t like me to be head-waiter, I suppose?’ says he.  ’It would be a bit of a come-down.’