In some things, I am compelled to say that my husband is a little uncertain.  His memory is not always to be depended on.  Deeply absorbed in business, as he was at that time, he frequently let things of minor importance pass from his thoughts altogether.

So it happened on the present occasion.  He forgot that it was washing day, and that he had promised to dine down town.  Punctually at half-past one he left his place of business, as usual, and took his way homeward.  As he walked along, he met an old friend who lived in a neighboring town, and who was on a visit to our city.

“Why, Mr. Jones!  How glad I am to see you!  When did you arrive?”

And my husband grasped the hand of his friend eagerly.

“Came in last evening,” replied Mr. Jones.  “How well you look, Smith!  How is your family?”

“Well—­very well.  When do you leave?”

“By this afternoon’s line.”

“So soon?  You make no stay at all?”

“I came on business, and must go back again with as little delay as possible.”

“Then you must go and dine with me, Jones.  I won’t take no for an answer.  Want to have a long talk with you about old times.”

“Thank you, Mr. Smith,” replied Jones.  “But, as I don’t happen to know your good lady, I hardly feel free to accept your invitation.”

“Don’t hesitate for that.  She’ll be delighted to see you.  Always glad to meet any of my old friends.  So come along.  I’ve a dozen things to say to you.”

“I’m really afraid of intruding on your wife,” said Mr. Jones, still holding back from the invitation.

“Nonsense!” answered my husband.  “My friends are hers.  She will be delighted to see you.  I’ve talked of you to her a hundred times.”

At this Mr. Jones yielded.

“I can’t promise you any thing extra,” said Mr. Smith, as they walked along.  “Nothing more than a good, plain family dinner, and a warm welcome.”

“All I could ask or desire,” returned Mr. Jones.

It was a few minutes to two o’clock.  The bell had rung for dinner; and I was just rising to go to the dining room, when I heard the street door open, and the sound of my husband’s voice in the passage.  There was a man in company with him, for I distinctly heard the tread of a pair of feet.  What could this mean?  I remained seated, listening with attention.

My husband entered the parlor with his companion, talking in a cheerful, animated strain; and I heard him pull up the blinds and throw open the shutters.  Presently he came tripping lightly up the stairs to my sitting room.

“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.