"Miss Rachel has her faults--I've never denied it," he began. "And

riding the high horse, now and then, is one of them. She has been trying

to ride over you--and you have put up with it. Lord, Mr. Franklin, don't

you know women by this time better than that? You have heard me talk of

the late Mrs. Betteredge?"

I had heard him talk of the late Mrs. Betteredge pretty

often--invariably producing her as his one undeniable example of the

inbred frailty and perversity of the other sex. In that capacity he

exhibited her now.

"Very well, Mr. Franklin. Now listen to me. Different women have

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different ways of riding the high horse. The late Mrs. Betteredge took

her exercise on that favourite female animal whenever I happened to deny

her anything that she had set her heart on. So sure as I came home from

my work on these occasions, so sure was my wife to call to me up the

kitchen stairs, and to say that, after my brutal treatment of her,

she hadn't the heart to cook me my dinner. I put up with it for some

time--just as you are putting up with it now from Miss Rachel. At

last my patience wore out. I went downstairs, and I took Mrs.

Betteredge--affectionately, you understand--up in my arms, and carried

her, holus-bolus, into the best parlour where she received her company.

I said 'That's the right place for you, my dear,' and so went back to

the kitchen. I locked myself in, and took off my coat, and turned up my

shirt-sleeves, and cooked my own dinner. When it was done, I served it

up in my best manner, and enjoyed it most heartily. I had my pipe and

my drop of grog afterwards; and then I cleared the table, and washed the

crockery, and cleaned the knives and forks, and put the things away,

and swept up the hearth. When things were as bright and clean again, as

bright and clean could be, I opened the door and let Mrs. Betteredge in.

'I've had my dinner, my dear,' I said; 'and I hope you will find that I

have left the kitchen all that your fondest wishes can desire.' For the

rest of that woman's life, Mr. Franklin, I never had to cook my dinner

again! Moral: You have put up with Miss Rachel in London; don't put up

with her in Yorkshire. Come back to the house!"

Quite unanswerable! I could only assure my good friend that even HIS

powers of persuasion were, in this case, thrown away on me.

"It's a lovely evening," I said. "I shall walk to Frizinghall, and stay

at the hotel, and you must come to-morrow morning and breakfast with me.

I have something to say to you."




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