cloth, and putting plates, knives and forks thereon.
"Is that a hit at me, mademoiselle? Do you suppose I am without feeling?"
"I suppose you are always interfering with your own feelings, and those of other people, and dogmatizing about the irrationality of this, that, and the other sentiment, and then ordering it to be suppressed because you imagine it to be inconsistent with logic."
"I do right."
Frances had stept out of sight into a sort of little pantry; she soon re-appeared.
"You do right? Indeed, no! You are much mistaken if you think so. Just be so good as to let me get to the fire, Mr. Hunsden; I have something to cook." (An interval occupied in settling a casserole on the fire; then, while she stirred its contents:) "Right! as if it were right to crush any pleasurable sentiment that God has given to man, especially any sentiment that, like
