I was going on to point out how frightfully different from all this my ogre
was,--how he would devour a half-cooked chop, and drink a pint of ale from
the public-house, &c., &c., when she interrupted me, saying with an odd
expression of voice,--

"You are satirical, cozzie. He's not the worst sort of man you've just
described. A woman might be very happy with him. If it weren't such early
days, I should doubt if you were as comfortable as you would have people
think; for how else should you be so ill-natured?"

It flashed upon me, that, without the least intention, I had been giving a
very fair portrait of Mr. Morley. I felt my face grow as red as fire.

"I had no intention of being satirical, Judy," I replied.

"I was only describing a man the very opposite of my husband."

"You don't know mine yet," she said. "You may think"--

She actually broke down and cried. I had never in my life seen her cry, and
I was miserable at what I had done. Here was a nice beginning of social
relations in my married life!

I knelt down, put my arms round her, and looked up in her face.

"Dear Judy," I said, "you mistake me quite. I never thought of Mr. Morley
when I said that. How should I have dared to say such things if I had? He
is a most kind, good man, and papa and every one is glad when he comes to
see us. I dare say he does like to sleep well,--I know Percivale does; and