"
"How was I to know?" replied Mrs. George. "I am not an ironmonger.
What have I to do with pipes? You shouldn't have had such a thing."
Ellen stood looking at the wreck.
"We don't want you;" said George savagely; "go into the kitchen," and
he shut the dining-room door. There the husband and wife stood face
to face with one another, with the drip, drip, drip still proceeding,
the ruined plaster, and the spoilt furniture.
"I don't care," he broke out, "one brass farthing for it all; but
what I do care for is that you should not have had the sense to
unstop that pipe."
She said nothing, but cried bitterly. At last she sat down and
sobbed out: "O George, George, you are in a rage with me; you are
tired of me; you are disappointed with me. Oh! what shall I do, what
SHALL I do?" Poor child! her pretty curls fell over her face as she
covered it with her long white hands. George was touched with pity
in an instant, and his arms were round her neck. He kissed her
fervently, and besought her not to think anything of what he had
said. He took out his handkerchief, wiped her eyes tenderly, lifted
one of her arms and put it round his neck as he pulled a chair
towards him and sat down beside her.
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