"I've brought a friend home to dinner, Jane," said he, as coolly and
as confidently as if it were not washing day; and as if he had not
told me on going out, that he would dine at an eating house.

This was a little too much for my patience and forbearance.

"Are you beside yourself, Mr. Smith?" I replied, my face instantly
becoming flushed, and my eyes glancing out upon him the sudden
indignation I felt at such treatment.

"Why, Jane! Jane! This is not kind in you," said my husband, with
regret and displeasure in his voice. "It is rather hard if a man
can't ask an old friend home to dine with him once in five years,
without asking the special permission of his wife."

"Mr. Smith! Are you not aware that this is washing day?"

There was an instant change in my husband's countenance. He seemed
bewildered for a few moments.

"And, moreover," I continued, "are you not aware that I was to have
a picked-up dinner at home, and that you were to dine at an eating
house?"

"I declare!" Mr. Smith struck his hands together, and turned around
once upon his heel.--"I entirely forgot about that."

"What's to be done?" said I, almost crying with vexation. "I've
nothing for dinner but fried ham and eggs."