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270 When we finally rose from the table, I cast a look of triumph at the poor old fellow opposite to me. He was biting his stubbly moustache to hide his mortification. He had not been allowed to put in a word edgeways, and he was keenly miserable.

"Was I not thirsty for information, Arthur?" I asked my husband, as he settled himself in our mutual parlor to read the paper, a task with which our church-going had interfered.

"Horribly so," he said, laughing. He seemed to have somewhat recovered himself, though his face was still flushed, and I could see that his hands shook slightly as he held the paper. "What induced you to talk so much, Elsie?"

Oh, men are obtuse beings! He had no idea that my conversational efforts were merely made to spare him pain.

"I had nothing else to do," I answered flippantly. "And I thought my voice sounded well to-day; then, you know, it was Sunday, and I wanted to give them all a treat. Do you see?"

He laughed again. "Elsie," he said, "sometimes I wonder, after listening to your speeches,