Just then the bell announced that dinner was on the table.  Mr. Smith arose and led the way to the dinner-room with a firm step.  Before we were married he wouldn’t have dreamed of thus preceding me!  I was fretted at this little act.  It indicated too plainly what was in the man.

Dinner passed in silence.  I forced myself to eat, that I might appear unconcerned.  On rising from the table, Mr. Smith left the house without saying a word.

You may suppose I didn’t feel very comfortable during the afternoon.  I had taken my stand, and my intention was to maintain it to the last.  That Mr. Smith would yield I had no doubt at first.  But, as evening approached, and the trial-time drew near, I had some misgivings.

Mr. Smith came home early.

“Mary,” said he, in his usual pleasant way, “I have ordered a carriage to be here at half-past seven.  We mustn’t leave home later, as the curtain rises at eight.”

“What curtain rises?  Where do you think of going?”

“To see Fanny Ellsler, of course.  I mentioned to you at dinner-time that I had tickets.”

This was said very calmly.

“And I told you at dinner-time that I was going to the Philharmonic, and not to see this dancer.”  I tried to appear as composed as he was, but failed in the attempt altogether.

“You were aware that I had tickets for the theatre before you said that,” was the cold answer he made.

“Of course I was.”

“Very well, Mary.  You can do as you like.  The carriage will be here at half-past seven.  If you are then ready to go to the theatre, I shall be happy to have your company.”  And my husband, after saying this with a most unruffled manner, politely bowed and retired to the parlour.

I was on fire.  But I had no thought of yielding.

At half-past seven I was ready.  I heard the carriage drive up to the door and the bell ring.

“Mary,” called my husband at the bottom of the stair-case, in a cheerful tone, “are you ready?”

“Ready to go where?” I asked on descending.

“To the theatre.”

“I am ready for the concert, “I answered in as composed a voice as I could assume.

“I am not going to the concert to-night, Mrs. Smith.  I thought you understood that,” firmly replied my husband.  “I am going to see Fanny Ellsler.  If you will go with me, I shall be very happy to have your company.  If not, I must go alone.”

“And I am going to the Philharmonic.  I thought you understood that,” I replied, with equal resolution.

“Oh! very well,” said he, not seeming to be at all disturbed.  “Then you can use the carriage at the door.  I will walk to the theatre.”

Saying this, Mr. Smith turned from me deliberately and walked away.  I heard him tell the driver of the carriage to take me to the Musical Fund Hall; then I heard the street-door close, and then I heard my husband’s footsteps on the pavement as he left the house.  Without hesitating a moment for reflection, I followed to the door, entered the carriage, and ordered the man to drive me—­where?  I had no ticket for the concert; nor could I go alone!