‘What’s happened, Mrs. Byass?’

’He’s a beast!  If he doesn’t mind I shall go and leave him.  I mean it!’

Bessie was in a genuine fit of sullenness.  One of her hands was clenched below her chin; her pretty lips were not pretty at all; her brow was rumpled.  Jane began to seek for the cause of dissension, to put affectionate questions, to use her voice soothingly.

‘He’s a beast!’ was Bessie’s reiterated observation; but by degrees she added phrases more explanatory.  ’How can I help it if he cuts himself when he’s shaving?—­Serve him right!—­What for?  Why, for saying that babies was nothing but a nuisance, and that my baby was the ugliest and noisiest ever born!’

‘Did she cry in the night?’ inquired Jane, with sympathy.

‘Of course she did!  Hasn’t she a right to?’

‘And then Mr. Byass cut himself with his razor?’

’Yes.  And he said it was because he was woke so often, and it made him nervous, and his hand shook.  And then I told him he’d better cut himself on the other side, and it wouldn’t matter.  And then he complained because he had to wait for breakfast.  And he said there’d been no comfort in the house since we’d had children.  And I cared nothing about him, he said, and only about the baby and Ernest.  And he went on like a beast, as he is!  I hate him!’

‘Oh no, not a bit of it!’ said Jane, seeing the opportunity for a transition to jest.

‘I do!  And you may go upstairs and tell him so.’

‘All right; I will.’

Jane ran upstairs and knocked at the door of the parlour.  A gruff voice bade her enter, but the room was nearly in darkness.

‘Will you have a light, Mr. Byass?’

‘No—­thank you.’

‘Mr. Byass, Mrs. Byass says I’m to say she hates you.’

’All right.  Tell her I’ve known it a long time.  She needn’t trouble about me; I’m going out to enjoy myself.’

Jane ran back to the kitchen.

‘Mr. Byass says he’s known it a long time,’ she reported, with much gravity.  ‘And he’s going out to enjoy himself.’

Bessie remained mute.

‘What message shall I take back, Mrs. Byass?’

’Tell him if he dares to leave the house, I’ll go to mother’s the first thing to-morrow, and let them know how he’s treating me.’

‘Tell her,’ was Mr. Byass’s reply, ’that I don’t see what it matters to her whether I’m at home or away.  And tell her she’s a cruel wife to me.’

Something like the sound of a snivel came out of the darkness as he concluded.  Jane, in reporting his speech, added that she thought he was shedding tears.  Thereupon Bessie gave a sob, quite in earnest.

‘So am I,’ she said chokingly.  ‘Go and tell him, Jane.’

‘Mr. Byass, Mrs. Byass is crying,’ whispered Jane at the parlour-door.  ‘Don’t you think you’d better, go downstairs?’

Hearing a movement, she ran to be out of the way.  Samuel left the dark room, and with slow step descended to the kitchen.  Then Jane knew that it was all right, and tripped up to her room humming a song of contentment.