“As the lady of the house, Mrs. S., it strikes me that you might offer a visitor, like this gentleman, some cake and wine, without making any particular hole in your manners!”

“Oh dear me!  I beg your pardon!  I’m very sorry, I’m sure”—­and she poured out a glass of wine, with such a trembling hand that the decanter tinkled all the while against the glass.  Though I wanted nothing, I ate and drank something immediately, in common consideration for Mrs. Sherwin’s embarrassment.

Mr. Sherwin filled himself a glass—­held it up admiringly to the light—­said, “Your good health, Sir, your very good health;” and drank the wine with the air of a connoisseur, and a most expressive smacking of the lips.  His wife (to whom he offered nothing) looked at him all the time with the most reverential attention.

“You are taking nothing yourself, Mrs. Sherwin,” I said.

“Mrs. Sherwin, Sir,” interposed her husband, “never drinks wine, and can’t digest cake.  A bad stomach—­a very bad stomach.  Have another glass yourself.  Won’t you, indeed?  This sherry stands me in six shillings a bottle—­ought to be first-rate wine at that price:  and so it is.  Well, if you won’t have any more, we will proceed to business.  Ha! ha! business as I call it; pleasure I hope it will be to you.”

Mrs. Sherwin coughed—­a very weak, small cough, half-stifled in its birth.

“There you are again!” he said, turning fiercely towards. her—­“Coughing again!  Six months of the doctor—­a six months’ bill to come out of my pocket—­and no good done—­no good, Mrs. S.”

“Oh, I am much better, thank you—­it was only a little—­”

“Well, Sir, the evening after you left me, I had what you may call an explanation with my dear girl.  She was naturally a little confused and—­and embarrassed, indeed.  A very serious thing of course, to decide at her age, and at so short a notice, on a point involving the happiness of her whole life to come.”

Here Mrs. Sherwin put her handkerchief to her eyes—­quite noiselessly; for she had doubtless acquired by long practice the habit of weeping in silence.  Her husband’s quick glance turned on her, however, immediately, with anything but an expression of sympathy.

“Good God, Mrs. S.! what’s the use of going on in that way?” he said, indignantly.  “What is there to cry about?  Margaret isn’t ill, and isn’t unhappy—­what on earth’s the matter now?  Upon my soul this is a most annoying circumstance:  and before a visitor too!  You had better leave me to discuss the matter alone—­you always were in the way of business, and it’s my opinion you always will be.”

Mrs. Sherwin prepared, without a word of remonstrance, to leave the room.  I sincerely felt for her; but could say nothing.  In the impulse of the moment, I rose to open the door for her; and immediately repented having done so.  The action added so much to her embarrassment that she kicked her foot against a chair, and uttered a suppressed exclamation of pain as she went out.