“It has been the theme of general comment, Mr. Snitchey,” said Mrs. Snitchey. “I hope the office is satisfied.”
“Satisfied with what, my dear?” asked Mr. Snitchey.
“With the exposure of a defenceless woman to ridicule and remark,” returned his wife. “That is quite in the way of the office, that is.”
“I really, myself,” said Mrs. Craggs, “have been so long accustomed to connect the office with everything opposed to domesticity, that I am glad to know it as the avowed enemy of my peace. There is something honest in that, at all events.”
“My dear,” urged Mr. Craggs, “your good opinion is invaluable, but I never avowed that the office was the enemy of your peace.”
“No,” said Mrs. Craggs, ringing a perfect peal upon the little bells. “Not you, indeed. You wouldn’t be worthy of the office, if you had the candor to.”
“As to my having been away to-night, my dear,” said Mr. Snitchey, giving her his arm, “the deprivation has been mine, I’m sure; but, as Mr. Craggs knows—”
Mrs. Snitchey cut this reference very short by hitching her husband to a distance, and asking him to look at that man. To do her the favor to look at him.
“At which man, my dear?” said Mr. Snitchey.
“Your chosen companion; I’m no companion to you Mr. Snitchey.”