"No," I replied; "but I have known her longer and studied her more closely than you have done.—And I can tell you, Mr. Hattersley, that Milicent loves you more than you deserve, and that you have it in your power to make her very happy, instead of which you are her evil genius, and, I will venture to say, there is not a single day passes in which you do not inflict upon her some pang that you might spare her if you would."
"Well—it's not my fault," said he, gazing carelessly up at the ceiling and plunging his hands into his pockets: "if my ongoings don't suit her, she should tell me so."
"Is she not exactly the wife you wanted? Did you not tell Mr. Huntingdon you must have one that would submit to anything without a murmur, and never blame you, whatever you did?"
"True, but we shouldn't always have what we want: it spoils the best of us, doesn't it? How can I help playing the deuce when I see
