As for Frederick Lee, he was unhappy enough.  The words of Kate had stung him severely.

“And so, in her eyes, I am no better than a country clod-hopper!”

Almost every hour was this repeated—­sometimes mentally and sometimes aloud; and at each repetition it disturbed his feelings and awakened an unforgiving spirit.

“A clod-hopper, indeed!  Wonder she never made this discovery before!”

This was the thought of Lee as he left his place of business to return home, on the evening of the day on which Mrs. Morton called upon Kate.  Why would he not look away from this?  Why would he ponder over and magnify the offence of Kate?  Why would he keep this ever before his eyes?  His self-love had been wounded.  His pride had been touched.  The weapon of ridicule had been used against him, and to ridicule he was morbidly sensitive.  Kate should have read his character more closely, and should have understood it better.  But she was ignorant of his weaknesses, and bore heavily upon them ere aware of their existence.

It was in this brooding, clouded, and unforgiving state of mind that Frederick Lee took his way homeward.  On entering his dwelling, which he did almost noiselessly, he went into the parlour and seated himself in the very place where he was sitting when Kate began, so unexpectedly to him, her unsuccessful work of reformation.  Every thing around reminded him of that unfortunate evening—­even the lounging position he so naturally assumed, sliding down, as he did, in the chair, and throwing one of his legs over the arm.

“It is comfortable for me,” said he, moodily to himself; “and it’s my own house.  If she don’t like it, let her—­”

He did not finish the sentence, for he felt that his state of mind was not what it should be, and that to speak thus of his wife was neither just nor kind.

Unhappy young man!  Is it thus you visit the light offence—­for it was light, in reality—­of the loving and gentle young creature who has given her happiness, her very life into your keeping?  Could you not bear a word from her?  Are you so perfect, that her eyes must see no defect?  Is she never to dare, on penalty of your stern displeasure, to correct a fault—­to seek to lift you, by her purer and better taste, above the ungraceful and unmanly habits consequent upon a neglected boyhood?  What if her hand was laid rather heavily upon you?  What if her feelings did prompt her to use words that had better been left unsaid?  It was the young wife’s pride in her husband that warmed her into undue excitement, and this you should have at once comprehended.

If Frederick Lee did not think precisely as we have written, his thoughts gradually inclined in that direction.  Still he felt moody, and his feelings warmed but little toward Kate.

Thus he sat for some ten or fifteen minutes.  At the end of this time, he heard light footsteps coming down the stairs.  He knew them to be those of his wife.  He did not move nor make a sound, but rather crouched lower in his chair, the back of which was turned toward the door.  But his thought was on his wife.  He saw her with the eyes of his mind—­saw her with her clouded countenance.  His heart throbbed heavily against his side, and he partially held his breath.