Mrs. Chater lashed herself with the recollection: "Nothing of the
kind!" she burst. "Nothing of the kind! What did the man say to you
when you asked what was the matter?"

"I quite forget."

"You do not forget."

"My dear, I really and truly do forget."

"For the hundredth time, then, let me tell you. He said that if you
pushed your ugly mug into it he would knock off your blooming head."

"Did he say _mug?_" asked Mr. Chater, assuming the air of one who,
knowing this at the time, would have committed a singularly ferocious
murder.

"Well you know that he _did_ say mug--_ugly_ mug. Was _that_ a thing
for a man of spirit to take quietly? Was _that_ a thing for a wife to
hear bawled at her husband in the open street with the commissionaire
grinning behind his hand? To my dying day I shall never forget my
humiliation when you handed him sixpence."

The unhappy husband murmured: "I do so wish you could, my dear."

Mrs. Chater shook, handled her troops with the skill of a perfect
tactician, and hurled in the attack upon another quarter.

She said: "Ah, now insult me! Insult me before Miss Humfray! That's
right! _That's_ right! That's what I'm accustomed to. We all have our