THE silken texture of the marriage tie bears a daily strain
of wrong and insult to which no other human relation can
be subjected without lesion; and sometimes the strength
that knits society together might appear to the eye of
faltering faith the curse of those immediately bound by it.
Two people by no means reckless of each other's rights
and feelings, but even tender of them for the most part,
may tear at each other's heart-strings in this sacred
bond with perfect impunity; though if they were any
other two they would not speak or look at each other
again after the outrages they exchange. It is certainly
a curious spectacle, and doubtless it ought to convince
an observer of the divinity of the institution.
If the husband and wife are blunt, outspoken people
like the Laphams, they do not weigh their words;
if they are more refined, they weigh them very carefully,
and know accurately just how far they will carry, and in
what most sensitive spot they may be planted with most effect.

Lapham was proud of his wife, and when he married her it
had been a rise in life for him. For a while he stood
in awe of his good fortune, but this could not last,
and he simply remained supremely satisfied with it.
The girl who had taught school with a clear head and a strong
hand was not afraid of work; she encouraged and helped him
from the first, and bore her full share of the common burden.
She had health, and she did not worry his life out with
peevish complaints and vagaries; she had sense and principle,
and in their simple lot she did what was wise and right.
Their marriage was hallowed by an early sorrow: they