"Are you not well, Mary?"

I made no answer, but continued to weep. Mr. Smith stood for the
space of about a minute, but asked no further question. Then,
without uttering a word, he retired from the chamber, and in a
little while after I heard him leave the house. I cried now in good
earnest. It was plain that my husband had no feeling; that he did
not care whether I was pleased or sad. But I determined to give him
a fair trial. If I failed in this new way, what was I to do? The
thought of becoming the passive slave of a domestic tyrant was
dreadful. I felt that I could not live in such a state. When Mr.
Smith came home at dinner-time I was in my chamber, ready prepared
for a gush of tears. As he opened the door I looked up with
streaming eyes, and then hid my face in a pillow.

"Mary," said he, with much kindness in his voice, "what ails you?
Are you sick?" He laid his hand upon mine as he spoke.

But I did not reply. I meant to punish him well for what he had done
as a lesson for the future. I next expected him to draw his arm
around me, and be very tender and sympathizing in his words and
tones. But no such thing! He quietly withdrew the hand he had placed
upon mine; and stood by me, I could feel, though not see, in a cold,
erect attitude.

"Are you not well, Mary?" he asked again.

I was still silent. A little while after I heard him moving across
the floor, and then the chamber door shut. I was once more alone.