"Ovid knows best, my dear," he said cheerfully to his wife.

Mrs.
Gallilee's sudden recovery of her temper did not include her husband.
If a look could have annihilated that worthy man, his corporal presence must have vanished into air, when he had delivered himself of his opinion.

As it was, he only helped Zo to another spoonful of jam.

"When Ovid first thought of that voyage," he went on, "I said, Suppose he's sick?
A dreadful sensation isn't it, Miss Minerva?
First you seem to sink into your shoes, and then it all comes up--eh?
You're _not_ sick at sea?
I congratulate you! I most sincerely congratulate you! My dear Ovid, come and dine with me to-night at the club." He looked doubtfully at his wife, as he made that proposal.

"Got the headache, my dear?
I'll take you out with pleasure for a walk.