I promised to put it to him.
I met Harris at the Club in the afternoon, and asked him how he had got on.
He said, "Oh, that's all right; there's no difficulty about getting away." But there was that about his tone that suggested incomplete satisfaction, so I pressed him for further details.
"She was as sweet as milk about it," he continued; "said it was an excellent idea of George's, and that she thought it would do me good." "That seems all right," I said; "what's wrong about that ?" "There's nothing wrong about that," he answered, "but that wasn't all.
She went on to talk of other things." "I understand," I said.
"There's that bathroom fad of hers," he continued.
"I've heard of it," I said; "she has started Ethelbertha on the same idea." "Well, I've had to agree to that being put in hand at once; I couldn't argue any more when she was so nice about the other thing.

That will cost me a hundred pounds, at the very least." "As much as that ?" I asked.
"Every penny of it," said Harris; "the estimate alone is sixty." I was sorry to hear him say this.
"Then there's the kitchen stove," continued Harris; "everything that has gone wrong in the house for the last two years has been the fault of that kitchen stove." "I know," I said.

"We have been in seven houses since we were married, and every kitchen stove has been worse than the last.

Our present one is not only incompetent; it is spiteful.

It knows when we are giving a party, and goes out of its way to do its worst." "_We_ are going to have a new one," said Harris, but he did not say it proudly.