"I must do better," was my quick remark, made in penitent tones. "I was very thoughtless."
To relieve my mind, my husband changed the subject of conversation; but, nothing could relieve the pressure upon my feelings, caused by a too acute consciousness of having done what in the eyes of my husband, looked like a want of true humanity. I could not bear that he should think me void of sympathy for others.
The day following was Sunday. Church time came, and Mr. Smith went to the clothes press for his best coat, which had been worn only for a few months.
"Jane!" he called to me suddenly, in a voice that made me start. "Jane! Where is my best coat?"
"In the clothes press," I replied, coming out from our chamber into the passage, as I spoke.
"No; it's not here," was his reply. "And, I shouldn't wonder if you had sold my good coat for those china vases."
"No such thing!" I quickly answered, though my heart gave a great bound at his words; and then sunk in my bosom with a low tremor of alarm.
"Here's my old coat," said Mr. Smith, holding up that defaced garment—"Where is the new one?"
"The old clothes man has it, as sure as I live!" burst from my lips.
"Well, that is a nice piece of work, I must confess!"