I felt only my own misery that day. Now I realize that the meeting
between Tom's mother and his wife was a mutual misery. I was crude. No
doubt, to her, I seemed even common. With every one except Tom I seemed
awkward and stupid. Poor mother-in-law!

When she rose to go, I saw her to her carriage. She was extremely
insistent that I should not. But this was Tom's mother, and I was
determined to leave no friendly act undone. At home it would have been
an offense not to see the company to their wagon. Even in Madison we
would have escorted a caller to his carriage.

Again it was the coachman who with one chill look warned me that I had
sinned.

Before Tom came home that afternoon he called on his mother, so no
explanations from me were necessary. He knew it all, and doubtless much
more than had escaped me. Like the princely gentleman he always was,
the poor boy tried to soften that after-noon's blows by saying social
customs were stupid and artificial and I knew all the important things
in life. The other few little things and habits of his world he could
easily tell me.

Few--and little! There were thousands, and they loomed bigger each day.
Moreover, Tom did not tell me. Either, manlike, he forgot, or he was
afraid of hurting my feelings.

One of the few things Tom did tell me I was forever forgetting. Napkins
belonged to Sundays at home, and they were not washed often. It was a
long-standing habit, to save back-breaking work for mother, to fold my
napkin neatly after meals. Unlearning that and acquiring the custom of