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 answer, but continued to weep.  Mr. Smith stood for the space of about a minute, but asked no further question.  Then, without uttering a word, he retired from the chamber, and in a little while after I heard him leave the house.  I cried now in good earnest.  It was plain that my husband had no feeling; that he did not care whether I was pleased or sad.  But I determined to give him a fair trial.  If I failed in this new way, what was I to do?  The thought of becoming the passive slave of a domestic tyrant was dreadful.  I felt that I could not live in such a state.  When Mr. Smith came home at dinner-time I was in my chamber, ready prepared for a gush of tears.  As he opened the door I looked up with streaming eyes, and then hid my face in a pillow.

“Mary,” said he, with much kindness in his voice, “what ails you?  Are you sick?” He laid his hand upon mine as he spoke.

But I did not reply.  I meant to punish him well for what he had done as a lesson for the future.  I next expected him to draw his arm around me, and be very tender and sympathizing in his words and tones.  But no such thing!  He quietly withdrew the hand he had placed upon mine; and stood by me, I could feel, though not see, in a cold, erect attitude.

“Are you not well, Mary?” he asked again.

I was still silent.  A little while after I heard him moving across the floor, and then the chamber door shut.  I was once more alone.

When the bell rang for dinner, I felt half sorry that I had commenced this new mode of managing my husband; but, as I had begun, I was determined to go through with it.  “He’ll at least take care how he acts in the future,” I said.  I did not leave my chamber to join my husband at the dinner table.  He sat his usual time, as I could tell by the ringing of the bell for the servant to change the plates and bring in the dessert.  I was exceedingly fretted; and more so by his returning to his business without calling up to see me, and making another effort to dispel my grief.