hair-brush on the palm of her hand, 'that in that house there are
fourteen doors and no more.' 'Well then--' cries the gentleman,
rising in despair, and pacing the room with rapid strides. 'By G-,
this is enough to destroy a man's intellect, and drive him mad!'

By and by the gentleman comes-to a little, and passing his hand
gloomily across his forehead, reseats himself in his former chair.
There is a long silence, and this time the lady begins. 'I
appealed to Mr. Jenkins, who sat next to me on the sofa in the
drawing-room during tea--' 'Morgan, you mean,' interrupts the
gentleman. 'I do not mean anything of the kind,' answers the lady.
'Now, by all that is aggravating and impossible to bear,' cries the
gentleman, clenching his hands and looking upwards in agony, 'she
is going to insist upon it that Morgan is Jenkins!' 'Do you take
me for a perfect fool?' exclaims the lady; 'do you suppose I don't
know the one from the other? Do you suppose I don't know that the
man in the blue coat was Mr. Jenkins?' 'Jenkins in a blue coat!'
cries the gentleman with a groan; 'Jenkins in a blue coat! a man
who would suffer death rather than wear anything but brown!' 'Do
you dare to charge me with telling an untruth?' demands the lady,
bursting into tears. 'I charge you, ma'am,' retorts the gentleman,
starting up, 'with being a monster of contradiction, a monster of
aggravation, a--a--a--Jenkins in a blue coat!--what have I done
that I should be doomed to hear such statements!'

Expressing himself with great scorn and anguish, the gentleman
takes up his candle and stalks off to bed, where feigning to be
fast asleep when the lady comes up-stairs drowned in tears,
murmuring lamentations over her hard fate and indistinct intentions
of consulting her brothers, he undergoes the secret torture of