what I know, now. Shouldn't wonder if you hear the milk in five minutes—there's the sparrows up already; yes, I say the sparrows; and, Caudle, you ought to blush to hear 'em.
"You don't hear 'em?
"Ha! you won't hear 'em, you mean: I hear 'em. No, Mr. Caudle; it isn't the wind whistling in the keyhole; I'm not quite foolish, though you may think so. I hope I know wind from a sparrow!
"Ha! when I think what a man you were before we were married! But you're now another person—quite an altered creature. But I suppose you're all alike—I dare say, every poor woman's troubled and put upon, though I should hope not so much as I am. Indeed, I should hope not! Going and staying out, and—
"What!
"You'll have a key?
"Will you? Not while I'm alive, Mr Caudle. I'm not going to bed with the door upon the latch for you or the best man breathing.
"You won't have a latch—you'll have a Chubb's lock?
"Will you? I'll have no Chubb here, I can tell you. What do you say?
"You'll have the lock put on to-morrow?
"Well, try it; that's all I say, Caudle; try it. I won't let you put me in a passion; but all I say is,—try it.
"A respectable thing, that, for a married man to carry about with him,—a street-door key! That tells a tale, I think. A nice thing for the father of a family! A key! What, to let yourself in and out when you please! To come in, like a thief in the middle of the night, instead of knocking at the door like a decent person! Oh, don't tell me that you only want to prevent me
