"And you?" said Mr. Simpson, turning to his wife.
"You're not my husband," she said, obstinately.
"Are you sure?" inquired Mr. Cooper.
"Certain."
"Very good, then," said her brother. "If he's not your husband I'm
going to knock his head off for telling them lies about me."
He sprang forward and, catching Mr. Simpson by the collar, shook him
violently until his head banged against the dresser. The next moment
the hands of Mrs. Simpson were in the hair of Mr. Cooper.
"How dare you knock my husband about!" she screamed, as Mr. Cooper let
go and caught her fingers. "You've hurt him."
"Concussion, I think," said Mr. Simpson, with great presence of mind.
His wife helped him to a chair and, wetting her handkerchief at the tap,
tenderly bathed the dyed head. Mr. Cooper, breathing hard, stood by
watching until his wife touched him on the arm.
"You come off home," she said, in a hard voice. "You ain't wanted. Are
you going to stay here all night?"
"I should like to," said Mr. Cooper, wistfully.
THE THREE SISTERS
Thirty years ago on a wet autumn evening the household of Mallett's
Lodge was gathered round the death-bed of Ursula Mallow, the eldest of
the three sisters who inhabited it.
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