were fixed upon her husband's face, with any thing but a look of
love.

"The first volume of Prescott's History of Mexico, one of the most
charming"--

"Pho! I don't want to hear your dull old histories!" said Cara, with
a contemptuous toss of the head.

"Dull old histories!" retorted Ellis, whose patience was now
gone. "Dull old histories! You don't know what you are talking about.
There's more real interest in this book than in all the French
novels that ever were invented to turn silly women's heads."

Of course, Mrs. Ellis "fired up" at this. She was just at the right
point of ignition to blaze out at a single breath of reproof. We
will not repeat the cutting language she used to her husband.
Enough, that, in the midst of the storm that followed, Ellis started
up, and bowing, with mock ceremony, said--

"I wish you good evening, madam. And may I see you in a better
humour when we meet again."

A moment afterwards, and Caroline was alone with her own perturbed
feelings and unpleasant, self-rebuking thoughts. Still, she could
not help muttering, as a kind of justification of her own conduct--

"A perfect Hotspur! It's rather hard that a woman can't speak to her
husband, but he must fling himself off in this way. Why didn't he
read his history, if it was so very interesting, and let me alone. I