Dinner was announced, and the guests were seated. The soup was, so far as appearances could be depended on, a little colored water thickened with rice, that passed; then came-what? "What is this, my dear?" said Hopkins, looking at some steaming balls of something which were laid before him, and from which rose the strongest odor of onions and thyme. "It must be the salmon," replied Effie, looking somewhat confused; "but, Ringold, please let it pass, if it is not done to your taste. I'll remember next time how you like it." Ringold looked very angry and mortified, but said nothing, except in a loud tone to order the dish removed. Then came the beef, cooked literally to death; its substance dried out, till it crackled under the knife; and the vegetables were cooked and dished in keeping with the rest. Poor Effie saw that it was all wrong, but it seemed to her useless to hope any longer. "This beef," said Hopkins, pale with anger, "cannot be eaten. It is outrageous beyond endurance, Effie. Gentlemen, I am mortified in the extreme, but I insist that you come with me to the Astor to dine; I cannot allow you to be deprived of your dinner because my wife is a baby." 66 Oh, Ringold!" replied Effie, trying to smile, "could you do such a thing?" The gentlemen insisted it was all very good; that they would be willing to eat such a dinner with such a wife every day; but it would not do. Hopkins insisted that that they should go with him. "It was the only way to give the cook a lesson," he said, and rose from the table; and his friends, who knew his dis position, dared not remain with Effie. The door was closed after them, and Effie still sat at the table, looking at the ill-cooked dishes before her. "It was cruel," thought Effie, "it was cruel to treat me in this manner. I have tried so hard to-day to please him." She burst into tears, and bitterly lamented her ignorance of domestic affairs. "He looked so angry, so mortified, what will I do? How can I remedy it?" The bell rang; a young friend called, and would not be refused. Effie went to the parlor, her face and eyes red from crying. "Why! Effie in tears!" said Sophy Murray; "what can be the cause? I was just telling Molly Waters I never envied any one but you. Do you not remember how often you and I have talked of the handsome old men we meant to marry, and be their darlings? Well, how do you like it? Is it not delightful? Come, now, Effie, you shan't keep any secrets from me. You know you promised you would not before you were married; not from me, you know. What is the matter?" The recollection of old times and old school-days over came Effie, for she had not outlived her romantic attachment for school friends, and she could not speak until she had cried anew. "Come, now," said Sophy, "what is it, dear Effie?" "Oh nothing," replied Effie; "nothing but the dinner;" here she paused; "and Ringold called me 'a baby."" "What about the dinner?" asked Sophy. "It was not well-cooked or served, and he had friends come home with him to dine, and he was very angry, and left the house to go out and dine with them at the Astor House." Scarcely able to finish the sentence, Effie again gave way to a flood of tears—while Sophy put her arms around her and assured her "it was not worth her tears." "I would not mind him at all, Effie; don't you cry for him; he is a disagreeable old bachelor, and it was a shame to treat you so, hardly three months married. I wish you had never seen him. There, now, Effie, don't you mind him. Tell him you don't care; he may go out every day if he likes, or go away altogether. The ugly old fellow." "No, Sophy, that would not do. He had reason to complain of me," said Effie, still crying. "He has lived very uncomfortable from my ignorance of housekeeping, and the only way for me now is to see how I can remedy it. I think I'll dis |