Upon the evening when we first made the personal acquaintance of the inmates of Almvik, Mr. H——­ and his wife were riding out in their gig; for in the morning they rode in a light hunting wagon, and at noon they used the large family coach.

Mr. H——­, immediately before starting forth on the ride had received a severe lecture from his spouse, because he indulged in an afternoon’s nap, instead of devising means for the amusement of the family, that is, of the worthy dame herself, and their only treasure, the little Eugene Ulrich, and Mr. H——­, we say, never felt inclined for sprightly conversation after such a lecture.

He well knew that he would be obliged to succumb in everything; but like a stubborn boy, who is punished by being compelled to stand in a corner until shame forces him to submit, Mr. H——­ determined, to speak figuratively—­to stand silently in that corner the entire day rather than to acknowledge himself conquered.

That was, at least, one point gained, towards his emancipation.  It cannot but be supposed, however, that, if the lecture had been upon any other subject less trivial than the mere act of sleeping, Mr. H——­ would have undoubtedly acted in an entirely different manner.  At least that is the only excuse we can find for his conduct on this occasion.

“Well,” said Mistress Ulrica, straightening herself up in her seat with the utmost dignity, “upon my honor, Mr. H——­, you are a very agreeable companion.”

“I am obliged to be careful while driving.”

“Is it necessary that you should sit there as dumb as a fence post?”

No reply.

“Well, I must say that your sulkiness is not to be envied.  Suppose some one should see us—­I mean you—­why they would readily believe that your wife was an old woman.”

“Now, now, my dear Ulrique Eugenie, don’t—­”

“Your dear Ulrique Eugenie is not yet thirty eight years old, and even though you are two years younger, I do not think that should make any difference.”

“On the contrary, on the contrary,” grumbled her husband, chuckling inwardly.

“I do not know but what your words have a double meaning; but Fabian, we must not quarrel, let us become reconciled, there is my hand.”

“Your heart ever overflows with the milk of human kindness, my dear,” said he.

“Thank you, my dear husband,—­but can you imagine what I really intended to say?”

“Indeed I cannot.”

“I intended to say, should you ever cast your eyes upon another—­”

“God forbid!”

“You may well say God forbid, am I not your wife, who will not allow her rights to be trodden under foot?”

“Am I not aware of that?”

“Even if you are, my dear, there is no harm in my saying that if I should discover the slightest cause which would arouse my suspicion I would scratch out your eyes!”

“Sweet Ulgenie!”