“It is always me,” she sobbed, “that is to blame for everything wrong. Your hasty ungovernable temper is never at fault. If you made me more of a confidante in your affairs—other men consult their wives, better men than you, and richer than you will ever be. Mrs. Hope says that her husband——”
“I don’t want to hear any more about Mrs. Hope.”
“You insisted on talking about her. I didn’t want to say anything, but you cross-questioned me till I had to, and now you blame me.”
“Very well, let it rest there. Bring me a jug of milk, if you please.”
“You are surely not going to drink milk after beer?”
“I claim the liberty of a British subject to drink any mortal thing I choose to drink. Don’t let us have an argument about it.”
“But you won’t sleep a wink, John, if you do. It’s for your own good I speak.”
“Everything is for my own good, Sarah; perhaps that’s what makes me so impatient.”
“Well, you know how you are after a bad night.”
“Yes, yes. I think I have earned my bad night anyhow. Get the milk or tell me where to get it.” Mrs. Sartwell always rose when her husband offered to help himself from the larder. She placed the jug of milk at his elbow.