"THEN I HAD NO RIGHT TO TELL YOU OF IT?

"And that's the way I'm thanked for my confidence. Because I don't
keep a secret from you, but show you, I may say, my naked soul,
Caudle, that's how I'm rewarded. Poor Mrs. Badgerly--for all her
hard words--after she went away, I'm sure my heart quite bled for
her. What do you say, Mr. Caudle?

"SERVES HER RIGHT--SHE SHOULD HOLD HER TONGUE?

"Yes; that's like your tyranny--you'd never let a poor woman speak.
Eh--what, what, Mr. Caudle?

"That's a very fine speech, I dare say; and wives are very much
obliged to you, only there's not a bit of truth in it. No, we women
don't get together, and pick our husbands to pieces, just as
sometimes mischievous little girls rip up their dolls. That's an old
sentiment of yours, Mr. Caudle; but I'm sure you've no occasion to
say it of me. I hear a good deal of other people's husbands,
certainly; I can't shut my ears; I wish I could: but I never say
anything about you,--and I might, and you know it--and there's
somebody else that knows it, too. No: I sit still and say nothing;
what I have in my own bosom about you, Caudle, will be buried with
me. But I know what you think of wives. I heard you talking to Mr.
Prettyman, when you little thought I was listening, and you didn't
know much what you were saying--I heard you. 'My dear Prettyman,'
says you, 'when some women get talking, they club all their husbands'
faults together; just as children club their cakes and apples, to
make a common feast for the whole set.' Eh?