"'You know me,' he goes on. 'I ain't a quarrelsome sort of chap. If
nobody says a word to me, I never says a word to anybody; and it's been
like that ever since I left her, day in and day out, all just the same.
Up in the morning, do your bit of work, drink your glass of beer, and to
bed in the evening; nothing to excite you, nothing to rouse you. Why,
it's a mere animal existence.'

"He was a rum sort of chap, always thought things out from his own point
of view as it were."

"Yes, a curious case," I remarked to Henry; "not the sort of story to put
about, however. It might give women the idea that nagging is attractive,
and encourage them to try it upon husbands who do not care for that kind
of excitement."

"Not much fear of that," replied Henry. "The nagging woman is born, as
they say, not made; and she'll nag like the roses bloom, not because she
wants to, but because she can't help it. And a woman to whom it don't
come natural will never be any real good at it, try as she may. And as
for the men, why we'll just go on selecting wives according to the old
rule, so that you never know what you've got till it's too late for you
to do anything but make the best or the worst of it, according as your
fancy takes you.

"There was a fellow," continued Henry, "as used to work with me a good
many years ago now at a small hotel in the City. He was a waiter, like
myself--not a bad sort of chap, though a bit of a toff in his off-hours.
He'd been engaged for some two or three years to one of the chambermaids.
A pretty, gentle-looking little thing she was, with big childish eyes,