"Henry," she began solemnly, "are you yet in a state of mind to consider calmly the circumstances which have robbed you of all composure?"
"No," cried Hummel, throwing a boot at the door.
"I know the cause of your anger," continued Mrs. Hummel, looking modestly down. "No explanation is necessary for that. It is possible that he may sometimes have ventured more than was necessary in looks and small remarks; but he is amiable and full of talent, and we must make allowances for his vocation."
"He is a miserable fop," cried Mr. Hummel, hurling his second boot from him.
"That is not true," cried Mrs. Hummel, warmly. "But if it were, Henry--even if you could judge him utterly unworthy,--do not forget that pride and a feeling of duty dwell in the heart of your wife, and that your suspicion is an insult to these protecting genii."
"She is a coquettish, silly flirt," replied Hummel, dragging his slippers from under his bed.
Mrs. Hummel started back horrified.
"Your wife has not deserved this treatment. You tread under foot what should be holy to you. Come to your senses, I conjure you; your jealousy approaches to madness."
"I jealous of such a person!" cried Hummel, contemptuously, vehemently knocking the ashes from his pipe. "Then I must indeed be out of my mind. Leave me in peace with all this nonsense."
Mrs. Hummel seized her pocket-handkerchief and began to sob: