y call
her soul her own, was not for a moment to be entertained. On
reflection, it occurred to me that I had, probably, taken the wrong
method with my husband. There was a touch of stubbornness in his
nature that had arrayed itself against my too earnest efforts to
bend him to my will. A better way occurred. I had heard it said by
some one, or had read it somewhere, that no man was proof against a
woman's tears.

On the present occasion I certainly felt much more like crying than
laughing, and so it was no hard matter, I can honestly aver, to
appear bathed in tears on my husband's return between eleven and
twelve o'clock from the theatre. I cried from vexation as much as
from any other feeling.

When Mr. Smith came up into the chamber where I lay, I greeted his
presence with half a dozen running sobs, which he answered by
whistling the "Craccovienne!" I continued to sob, and he continued
to whistle for the next ten minutes. By that time he was ready to
get into bed, which he did quite leisurely, and laid himself down
upon his pillow with an expression of satisfaction. Still I sobbed
on, thinking that every sighing breath I drew was, in spite of his
seeming indifference, a pang to his heart. But, from this fond
delusion a heavily drawn breath, that was almost a snore, aroused
me. I raised up and looked over at the man--he was sound asleep.

A good hearty cry to myself was all the satisfaction I had, and then
I went to sleep. On the next morning, I met Mr. Smith at the
breakfast table with red eyes and a sad countenance. But he did not
seem to notice either.

"I hope you enjoyed yourself at the concert last night," said he. "I
was delighted at the theatre. Fanny danced divinely. Hers is truly
the poetry of motion!"

Now this was too much! I will leave it to any reader--any female
reader, I mean--whether this was not too much. I burst into a flood
of tears and immediately withdrew, leaving my husband to eat his
breakfast alone. He sat the usual time, which provoked me
exceedingly. If he had jumped up from the table and left the house,
I would have felt that I had made some impression upon him. But to
take things in this calm way! What had I gained? Nothing, as I could
see. After breakfast Mr. Smith came up to the chamber, and, seeing
my face buried in a pillow, weeping bitterly--I had increased the
flow of tears on hearing him ascending the stairs--said in a low
voice--

"Are you not well, Mary?"

I made no ans