HOMEWARD BOUND
Mr. Hatchard’s conversation for nearly a week had been confined to fault-finding and grunts, a system of treatment designed to wean Mrs. Hatchard from her besetting sin of extravagance. On other occasions the treatment had, for short periods, proved successful, but it was quite evident that his wife’s constitution was becoming inured to this physic and required a change of treatment. The evidence stared at him from the mantelpiece in the shape of a pair of huge pink vases, which had certainly not been there when he left in the morning. He looked at them and breathed heavily.
“Pretty, ain’t they?” said his wife, nodding at them.
“Who gave ‘em to you?” inquired Mr. Hatchard, sternly.
His wife shook her head. “You don’t get vases like that given to you,” she said, slowly. “
