This lady, Mrs. F.B., thirty-five years of age, with three children, was brought by her husband against her will.  He declared that both she and he were on the verge of nervous prostration; that unless something was done he would start beating her, this last of course representing a type of humorous desperation that usually has a wish concealed in it.  She was “worn to a frazzle”, always tired, sleepless, of capricious appetite, irritable, complaining, and yet absolutely refused to see a physician.  She had taken tonics by the gallon, been overhauled by a dozen specialists, all of whom say, “nothing wrong of any importance—­yet she is a wreck and I am getting to be one.”

Her husband was a jolly looking personage from the Middle West, in a small business which kept his family comfortably.  He looked domestic and admitted he was, which his wife corroborated.  Evidently he was exasperated and worried as he gave the history of the case, with his wife now and then putting in a word:  “Now, John, you are stretching things there; don’t believe him, Doctor; not so bad as all that,” etc.

She was a slender person, rather dowdily dressed as compared with her husband, with garments quite a little behind the prevailing mode.  Her hair was unbecomingly put up, and it was evident that she disdained cosmetics of any kind, even the innocent rice powder.  Her hands were quite unmanicured, though they were, of course, clean and neat.  The hat was the simplest straw, home trimmed and neat, but a mere “lid” compared to the creations most women of her class were at the time wearing.  That clothes were meant to be ornamental as well as useful was an attitude she completely rejected.

It turned out that life to her was an eternal housekeeping,—­from the beginning of the day to the end she was on the job.  Though she had a maid this did not relieve her much, for she constantly fretted and fumed over the maid’s slackness.  Everything had to be spotless all the time; she could not bear the disordered moments of bedtime, of the early morning hours, of wash day, of meal preparation, of the children’s room, etc.  She was obsessed by cleanliness and order, and her exasperated efforts, her reaction to any untidiness kept her husband and children bound in a fear like her own, though they rebelled and scolded her for it.

“She’s always after the children,” said her husband.  “She is crazy about them, but she has got them so they don’t dare call their soul their own.  They don’t bring their playmates into the house largely because they know that mother, though she wants children to play, goes after them picking up and cleaning.”

This restlessness in the presence of disorder was accompanied by the effort to eradicate all vices, all discourtesies, all errors in manners from the children.  She feared “bad habits” as she feared immorality.  She thought that any rudeness might grow into a habit, must be broken early; any selfish manifestation might be the beginning of a gross selfishness, any lying or pilfering might be the beginning of a career of crime.