"Sit down," growled Mr. Culpepper.

"Talking about my husband's faults," said his wife.

"So I was," said Mr. Sharp, putting his hand to his brow. "Don't be
alarm'," he continued, turning to his host; "nothing to be alarm' about.
I'm not going to talk about 'em. Not so silly as that, I hope. I don't
want spoil your life."

"Sit down," repeated Mr. Culpepper.

"You're very anxious he should sit down," said his wife, sharply.

"No, I'm not," said Mr. Culpepper; "only he's talking nonsense."

Mr. Sharp, still on his legs, took another sip of port and, avoiding the
eye of Mr. Culpepper, which was showing signs of incipient inflammation,
looked for encouragement to Miss Garland.

"He's a man we all look up to and respect," he continued. "If he does go
off to London every now and then on business, that's his lookout. My
idea is he always ought to take Mrs. Culpepper with him.

"He'd have pleasure of her company and, same time, he'd be money in pocket
by it. And why shouldn't she go to music-halls sometimes? Why shouldn't
she--"

"You get off home," said the purple Mr. Culpepper, rising and hammering
the table with his fist. "Get off home; and if you so much as show your
face inside this 'ouse again there'll be trouble. Go on. Out you go!"