my tongue. The repression here is unbearable.

Last night it rained, and Charles's overcoat was a little wet at the
bottom. He asked that it might be put to the fire. Directly he
came down in the morning he felt his coat and at breakfast said in
his slow way, 'My coat has not been dried.' I replied that I was
very sorry, that I had quite forgotten it, and that it should be
dried before he was ready to start. I jumped up, brought it into
the room and hung it on a chair on the hearth-rug. He did not thank
me and appeared to take no notice. 'I am indeed very sorry,' I
repeated. He then spoke. 'I do not care about the damp: it is the
principle involved. I have observed that you do not endeavour
systematically to impress my requests on your mind. If you were to
take due note of them at the time they are made, and say them aloud
two or three times to yourself, they would not escape your memory.
Forgetfulness is never an excuse in business, and I do not see why
it should be at home.' 'O Charles!' I cried, 'do not talk about
principles in such a trifle; I simply forgot. I should be more
likely to forget my cloak than your coat.' He did not answer me,
but opened a couple of letters, finished his breakfast, and then
began to write at the desk. I went upstairs, and when I returned to
the breakfast room he had gone. In the evening he behaved as if
nothing had passed between us. He would have thought it ridiculous
if such a reproof had unsettled a clerk at the bank, and why should
it unsettle me? The clerk expects to be taught his lesson daily.
So does every rational being.

Nothing! nothing! I can imagine Mrs. Perkins' contempt if I were to
confide in her. 'As good a husband as ever lived. What do you
want, you silly creature? I suppose it's what they call passion.