“‘So you was at the store the whole evenin’?’ she asks.

“‘Course I was,’ says I.  ‘Where else would I be?’

“She looked at me hard, and her face sort of set.  She didn’t answer, but took up the sewin’ in her lap and went to work on it.  I remember she dropped it once, and Bennie D. jumped to pick it up for her, quick as a wink.  I set down in the rockin’ chair and took the Gloucester paper.  But I didn’t really read.  The clock ticked and ticked, and ’twas so still you could hear every stroke of the pendulum.  Finally, I couldn’t stand it no longer.

“‘What on earth is the matter?’ I sings out.  ’What have I done this time?  Don’t you want me to go to the store?  Is that it?’

“She put down her sewin’.  ‘Seth,’ says she, quiet but awful cold, ’I want you to go anywheres that you want to go.  I never’ll stand in your way.  But I want you tell the truth about it afterwards.’

“‘The truth?’ says I.  ‘Don’t I always tell you the truth?’

“‘No,’ says she.  ‘You’ve lied to me tonight.  You’ve been callin’ on the Christy woman, and you know it.’

“Well, you could have knocked me down with a baby’s rattle.  I’d forgot all about that fool Sarah Ann.  I cal’late I turned nineteen different shades of red, and for a minute I couldn’t think of a word to say.  And Bennie D. smiled, wicked as the Old Harry himself.

“‘How—­how did you—­how do you know I see Sarah Ann Christy?’ I hollered out, soon’s I could get my breath.

“‘Because you were seen there,’ says she.

“‘Who see me?’

“‘I did,’ says she.  ‘I went down street myself, on an errand, and, bein’ as you weren’t here to go with me, Bennie was good enough to go.  It ain’t pleasant for a woman to go out alone after dark, and—­and I have never been used to it,’ she says.

“That kind of hurt me and pricked my conscience, as you may say.

“‘You know I’d been tickled to death to go with you, Emeline,’ I says.  ‘Any time, you know it.  But you never asked me to go with you.’

“‘How long has it been since you asked to go with me?’ she says.

“‘Do you really want me to go anywheres, Emeline?’ says I, eager.  ’Do you?  I s’posed you didn’t.  If you’d asked—­’

“‘Why should I always do the askin’?  Must a wife always ask her husband?  Doesn’t the husband ever do anything on his own responsibility?  Seth, I married you because I thought you was a strong, self-reliant man, who would advise me and protect me and—­’

“That cussed inventor bust into the talk right here.  I cal’late he thought twas time.

“‘Excuse me, sister,’ he says; ’don’t humiliate yourself afore him.  Remember you and me saw him tonight, saw him with our own eyes, settin’ on a dark piazza with another woman.  Drinkin’ with her and—­’

“‘Drinkin’!’ I yells.

“‘Yes, drinkin’,’ says he, solemn.  ’I don’t wonder you are ashamed of it.’