GARDEN OF A COMMUTER'S WIFE 335 



kind happened several weeks ago, when at the end 

 of a discussion with one of his book-mad friends 

 upon the subject of the misnamed and impossible 

 portraits, which had proved snares in the path of 

 their extra illustrating, the Dominie came hurrying 

 back in great excitement to show that he had picked 

 up a portrait of Nicholas Culpepper, hitherto unget- 

 table, the which father soon proved conclusively to 

 be that of Rene Descartes misnamed ! 



Upon my telling father of Martha's request for 

 an interview in private, he only laughed the harder, 

 while Evan took the matter quite indifferently, 

 though I could see that he writhed a little at the 

 idea of a first experience in coming face to face 

 with an uncertain domestic discussion. 



He seemed to linger an unusual time over his 

 coffee, and I was obliged fairly to drag him into 

 the den to finish his cigar, while father retreated 

 to the study, his eyes shining with mischief, and 

 closed the door in a very ostentatious manner. 



Evan went to his desk, but drummed with his 

 fingers instead of writing ; I tried two chairs, and 

 finally curled up in the ingle nook, divided between 

 anxiety and curiosity. 



Presently we heard Martha's firm tread come 

 down the hall. Stumbling over Bluff and Lark, 



