"I don't take the first that comes," said his wife.
"I'll pay a week in advance," said Mr. Hatchard, putting his hand in his
pocket. "Of course, if you're afraid of having me here--afraid o' giving
way to tenderness, I mean----"
"Afraid?" choked Mrs. Hatchard. "Tenderness! I--I----"
"Just a matter o' business," continued her husband; "that's my way of
looking at it--that's a man's way. I s'pose women are different. They
can't----"
"Come in," said Mrs. Hatchard, breathing hard Mr. Hatchard obeyed, and
clapping a hand over his mouth ascended the stairs behind her. At the
top she threw open the door of a tiny bedroom, and stood aside for him to
enter. Mr. Hatchard sniffed critically.
"Smells rather stuffy," he said, at last.
"You needn't have it," said his wife, abruptly. "There's plenty of other
fish in the sea."
"Yes; and I expect they'd stay there if they saw this room," said the
other.
"Don't think I want you to have it; because I don't," said Mrs. Hatchard,
making a preliminary movement to showing him downstairs.
"They might suit me," said Mr. Hatchard, musingly, as he peeped in at the
sitting-room door. "I shouldn't be at home much. I'm a man that's fond
of spending his evenings out."
Mrs. Hatchard, checking a retort, eyed him grimly.
"I've seen worse," he said, slowly; "but then I've seen a good many.
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