A MATRIMONIAL REVERIE.
“The love of a spirited woman is better worth having than that of any other female individual you can start.”
I wish I had known that before! I’d have plucked up a little spirit, and not gone trembling through creation like a plucked chicken, afraid of every animal I ran a-fowl of. I have not dared to say my soul was my own since the day I was married; and every time Mr. Jones comes into the entry and sets down that great cane of his, with a thump, you might hear my teeth chatter down cellar! I always keep one eye on him, in company, to see if I am saying the right thing; and the middle of a sentence is the place for me to stop (I can tell you) if his black eyes snap! It’s so aggravating to find out my mistake at this time o’ day. I ought to have carried a stiff upper lip long ago. Wonder if little women can look dignified? Wonder how it would do to turn straight about now? I’ll try it!
Harry will come home presently, and thunder out, as usual, “Mary, why the deuce isn’t dinner ready?” I’ll just set my teeth together, put my arms akimbo, and look him right straight——oh, mercy! I can’t. I should dissolve! Bless your soul, he’s a six-footer; such whiskers—none of your sham settlements! Such eyes! and such a nice mouth! Come to think of it, I really believe I love him! Guess I’ll go along the old way!