The cool couple are seldom alone together, and when they are,
nothing can exceed their apathy and dulness: the gentleman being
for the most part drowsy, and the lady silent. If they enter into
conversation, it is usually of an ironical or recriminatory nature.
Thus, when the gentleman has indulged in a very long yawn and
settled himself more snugly in his easy-chair, the lady will
perhaps remark, 'Well, I am sure, Charles! I hope you're
comfortable.' To which the gentleman replies, 'Oh yes, he's quite
comfortable quite.' 'There are not many married men, I hope,'
returns the lady, 'who seek comfort in such selfish gratifications
as you do.' 'Nor many wives who seek comfort in such selfish
gratifications as YOU do, I hope,' retorts the gentleman. 'Whose
fault is that?' demands the lady. The gentleman becoming more
sleepy, returns no answer. 'Whose fault is that?' the lady
repeats. The gentleman still returning no answer, she goes on to
say that she believes there never was in all this world anybody so
attached to her home, so thoroughly domestic, so unwilling to seek
a moment's gratification or pleasure beyond her own fireside as
she. God knows that before she was married she never thought or
dreamt of such a thing; and she remembers that her poor papa used
to say again and again, almost every day of his life, 'Oh, my dear
Louisa, if you only marry a man who understands you, and takes the
trouble to consider your happiness and accommodate himself a very
little to your disposition, what a treasure he will find in you!'
She supposes her papa knew what her disposition was--he had known
her long enough--he ought to have been acquainted with it, but what
can she do? If her home is always dull and lonely, and her husband
is always absent and finds no pleasure in her society, she is
naturally sometimes driven (seldom enough, she is sure) to seek a