"Sit down, my dear, sit down," interposed Mrs. Wood, softening her
asperity. "What I said about natural children doesn't apply to _you_.
Don't suppose," she added, with a scornful glance at her helpmate,
"that I would pay him the compliment of thinking he could possibly be
the father of such a boy as you."

Mr. Wood lifted up his hands in mute despair.

"Owen, Owen," pursued Mrs. Wood, sinking into a chair, and fanning
herself violently,--"what a fluster you have put me into with your
violence, to be sure! And at the very time, too, when you know I'm
expecting a visit from Mr. Kneebone, on his return from Manchester. I
wouldn't have him see me in this state for the world. He'd never forgive
you."

"Poh, poh, my dear! Mr. Kneebone invariably takes part with me, when any
trifling misunderstanding arises between us. I only wish he was not a
Papist and a Jacobite."

"Jacobite!" echoed Mrs. Wood. "Marry, come up! Mightn't he just as
reasonably complain of your being a Hanoverian and a Presbyterian? It's
all matter of opinion. And now, my love," she added, with a relenting
look, "I'm content to make up our quarrel. But you must promise me not
to go near that abandoned hussy at Willesden. One can't help being
jealous, you know, even of an unworthy object."

Glad to make peace on any terms, Mr. Wood gave the required promise,
though he could not help thinking that if either of them had cause to be
jealous he was the party.