The parlour was kept closed and dark, except on rare occasion.  Flies, and dust, and mud were Mrs. Murray’s avowed enemies.  To overcome them was the chief end of her life; to this end she tortured her husband, and son, and daughters.  Summer and winter she diligently pursued them, and many a tempest was evolved in that house from a source no greater than a muddy foot-print, or stray fly or two, for in summer the house was enclosed in wire screens, and heedless people were for ever leaving them open.

Economy, too, another most desirable virtue, was in this home made to appear almost a vice.  She would not let the sunshine in, lest it would fade the carpet.  She made her room dingy and unpleasant in the evening, to save gas.  She would not make a fire in the parlour in the winter, because it wasted coal.  She would not open it in summer because dust ruined the furniture.  To make matters worse, Mrs. Murray was a woman made principally of nerves.  She was a constitutional fretter.  It must be said in her justification that she came of a nervous race.  There are different kinds of nervous people; this family did not belong to that limp class who start with affright at every noise, or faint at sight of a spider.  Their nerves were too tightly drawn, and like a delicate stringed instrument, when a rude touch came, snap! went a string, making all life’s music into discord as far as they were concerned.  The discord usually expressed itself in scolding.  It is a real luxury for the time, to the wicked nerves to give somebody a sound beating.  Mrs. Murray’s mother and grandmother and great-grandmother had made a practice of scolding their children, their servants, and their husbands, when necessary, and it never seemed to occur to her that there was any other way to manage affairs.

Another antic those naughty nerves often indulged in, was nervous headache; when anything specially annoying took place, they met in convention in the top of the poor head, and held an indignation meeting; at such times Mrs. Murray was obliged to retreat to her own room.  The increasing frequency of these attacks furnished her with an excellent reason for withdrawing herself from society almost entirely.  She was not strong enough to entertain company.  She was not strong enough even to attend church habitually.  Her strength must all be given to her house and her table, for she was one of those housekeepers who consider economy out of place here; the cakes and pies and knick-knacks were counted a necessity, as well as more substantial food.  Don’t say Mr. Murray should not have chosen such a wife.  He did not.  This gloomy, fault-finding woman, bore no resemblance to the sweet, bright girl, he married.  It had all come about so gradually that neither realized the great change.