“Ah, Kate, you have proved the truth of what I told you before your marriage.  It is not so easy a thing to correct the faults of a husband—­faults confirmed by long habit.  Whenever a wife attempts this, she puts in jeopardy, for the time being at least, her happiness, as you have done.  A man is but little pleased to make the discovery that his wife thinks him no better than a country clod-hopper; and it is no wonder that he should be offended, if she, with strange indiscreetness and want of tact, tells him in plain terms what she thinks.  Your husband is sensitive, Kate.”

“I know he is.”

“And keenly alive to ridicule.”

“I am not aware of that.”

“Then your reading of his character is less accurate than mine.  Moreover, he has a pretty good opinion of himself.”

“We all have that.”

“And a strong will, quiet as he is in exterior.”

“Not stronger, perhaps, than I have.”

“Take my advice, Kate,” said Mrs. Morton, seriously, “and don’t bring your will in direct opposition to his.”

“And why not?  Am I not his equal?  He is no master of mine.  I did not sell myself as his slave, that his will should be my law!”

“Silly child!  How madly you talk!” said Mrs. Morton.  “Not for the world would I have Frederick hear such utterance from your lips.  Does he not love you tenderly?  Has he not, in every way, sought your happiness thus far in your brief married life?  Is he not a man of high moral virtue?  Does not your alliance with him rather elevate than depress you in the social rank?  And yet, forsooth, because he lounges in his chair, and permits his body, at times, to assume ungraceful attitudes, you must throw the apple of discord into your pleasant home to mar its beautiful harmonies.”

“Surely, a wife may be permitted to speak to her husband, and even seek to correct his faults,” said Kate.

“Better shut her eyes to his faults, if seeing them is to make them both unhappy.  You are in a very strange mood, Kate.”

“Am I?” returned Mrs. Lee, querulously.

“You are; and the quicker it passes away, the better for both yourself and husband.”

“I don’t know how soon it will pass away,” sighed Kate, moodily.

“Good-morning,” said Mrs. Morton, rising and making a motion to depart.

“You are not going?”

Kate glanced up with a look of surprise.

“Yes; I am afraid to stay here any longer,” was the affected serious reply.  “I might catch something of your spirit, and then my husband would find a change in his pleasant home.  Good-morning.  May I see you in a better state of mind when we meet again.”

And saying this, Mrs. Morton passed from the room so quickly that Kate could not arrest the movement; so she remained seated, though a little disturbed by her friend and monitor’s sudden departure.

What Mrs. Morton had said, although it seemed not to impress the mind of her young friend, yet lingered there, and now began gradually to do its work.