"Don't think I want you to have it; because I don't," said Mrs. Hatchard, making a preliminary movement to showing him downstairs.
"They might suit me," said Mr. Hatchard, musingly, as he peeped in at the sitting-room door. "I shouldn't be at home much. I'm a man that's fond of spending his evenings out."
Mrs. Hatchard, checking a retort, eyed him grimly.
"I've seen worse," he said, slowly; "but then I've seen a good many. How much are you asking?"
"Seven shillings a week," replied his wife. "With breakfast, tea, and supper, a pound a week."
Mr. Hatchard nearly whistled, but checked himself just in time.
"I'll give it a trial," he said, with an air of unbearable patronage.
Mrs. Hatchard hesitated.
"If you come here, you quite understand it's on a business footing," she said.
"O' course," said the other, with affected surprise. "What do you think I want it on?"