But, after this sweet calm, the surface of their feelings became again ruffled.  One little incongruity of character after another showed itself in both, and there was no genuine spirit of forbearance in either of them to meet and neutralize any sudden effervescence of the mind.  Lilly was not a year old, before they had a serious misunderstanding that made them both unhappy for weeks.  It had its origin in a mere trifle, as such things usually have.  They had been taking tea and spending an evening with a friend, a widow lady, for whom Mrs. Canning had a particular friendship.  As there was no gentleman present during the evening, the time passed rather heavily to Canning, who could not get interested in the conversation of the two ladies.  Toward nine o’clock he began to feel restless and impatient, and to wonder if his wife would not soon be thinking about going home.  But the time passed wearily until ten o’clock, and still the conversation between the two ladies was continued with undiminished interest, and, to all appearance, was likely to continue until midnight.

Canning at length became so restless and wearied that he said, thinking that his wife did not probably know how late it was,—­

“Come, Margaret, isn’t it ’most time to go home?”

Mrs. Canning merely looked into her husband’s face, but made no answer.

More earnestly than ever the ladies now appeared to enter upon the various themes for conversation that presented themselves, all of which were very frivolous to the mind of Canning, who was exceedingly chafed by his wife’s indifference to his suggestion about going home.  He determined, however, to say no more if she sat all night.  Toward eleven o’clock she made a movement to depart, and after lingering in the parlor before she went up stairs to put on her things, and in the chamber after her things were on, and on the stairs, in the passage, and at the door, she finally took the arm of her husband and started for home.  Not a word was uttered by either until they had walked the distance of two squares, when Margaret, unable to keep back what she wanted to say any longer, spoke thus,—­

“James, I will thank you, another time, when we are spending an evening out, not to suggest as publicly as you did to-night that it is time to go home.  It’s very bad manners, let me tell you, in the first place; and in the second place, I don’t like it at all.  I do not wish people to think that I have to come and go just at your beck or nod.  I was about starting when you spoke to me, but sat an hour longer just on purpose.”

The mind of Canning, already fretted, was set on fire by this.

“You did?” he said.

“Yes, I did.  And I can tell you, once for all, that I wish this to be the last time you speak to me as you did to-night.”

It was as much as the impatient spirit of Canning could do to keep from replying—­

“It’s the last time I will ever speak to you at all,” and then leaving her in the street, with the intention of never seeing her again.  But suddenly he thought of Lilly, and the presence of the child in his mind kept back the mad words from his lips.  Not one syllable did he utter during their walk home, although his wife said much to irritate rather than soothe him.  Nor did a sentence pass his lips that night.