ever forgive.

The coupe rattled over the stones or swirled through the muddy pools
of the main thoroughfares. Newspaper and telegraphic offices were still
brilliantly lit, and crowds were gathered among the bulletin boards.
He knew that news had arrived from Washington that evening of the first
active outbreaks of secession, and that the city was breathless with
excitement. Had he not just come from the theatre, where certain
insignificant allusions in the play had been suddenly caught up
and cheered or hissed by hitherto unknown partisans, to the dumb
astonishment of a majority of the audience comfortably settled to
money-getting and their own affairs alone? Had he not applauded, albeit
half-scornfully, the pretty actress--his old playmate Susy--who had
audaciously and all incongruously waved the American flag in their
faces? Yes! he had known it; had lived for the last few weeks in an
atmosphere electrically surcharged with it--and yet it had chiefly
affected him in his personal homelessness. For his wife was a
Southerner, a born slaveholder, and a secessionist, whose noted
prejudices to the North had even outrun her late husband's politics. At
first the piquancy and recklessness of her opinionative speech amused
him as part of her characteristic flavor, or as a lingering youthfulness
which the maturer intellect always pardons. He had never taken her
politics seriously--why should he? With her head on his shoulder he had
listened to her extravagant diatribes against the North. He had forgiven
her outrageous indictment of his caste and his associates for the sake
of the imperious but handsome lips that uttered it. But when he was
compelled to listen to her words echoed and repeated by her friends and
family; when he found that with the clannishness of her race she had
drawn closer to them in this controversy,--that she depended upon them
for her intelligence and information rather than upon him,--he had