Mrs. Jordan had friends in the neighbourhood, but she saw little of
them. She was not a woman of ordinary tastes. Everything proved that,
to her mind, the possession of a nice house, with the prospects of a
comfortable life, was an end in itself; she had no desire to exhibit her
well-furnished rooms, or to gad about talking of her advantages. Every
moment of her day was taken up in the superintendence of servants, the
discharge of an infinitude of housewifely tasks. She had no assistance
from her daughter; the girl went to school, and was encouraged to study
with the utmost application. The husband's presence in the house seemed
a mere accident--save in the still nocturnal season, when Mrs. Jordan
bestowed upon him her counsel and her admonitions.

After the lapse of a few days Mr. Jordan again offered combat, and threw
himself into it with a frenzy.

'Look here!' he shouted at length, 'either you or I are going to leave
this house. I can't live with you--understand? I hate the sight of you!'

'Go on!' retorted the other, with mild bitterness. 'Abuse me as much as
you like, I can bear it. I shall continue to do my duty, and unless you
have recourse to personal violence, here I remain. If you go too far, of
course the law must defend me!'

This was precisely what Mr. Jordan knew and dreaded; the law was on his
wife's side, and by applying at a police-court for protection she could
overwhelm him with shame and ridicule, which would make life
intolerable. Impossible to argue with this woman. Say what he might, the
fault always seemed his. His wife was simply doing her duty--in a spirit
of admirable thoroughness; he, in the eyes of a third person, would
appear an unreasonable and violent curmudgeon. Had it not all sprung out