"
She sank back and said no more. Again she was tempted to revolt
against such imbecile tyranny; and again, as she debated the
situation, the wisdom, the necessity of submitting became
apparent. How would it sound to have to explain to her grandmother
that she had left him because he took an inconvenient train? "I'd
like to see him try this sort of thing if we'd been married six
months instead of six weeks," she muttered.
She refused to talk with him, answered him in cold monosyllables.
And after dinner, when he produced the volume of Emerson and began
to read aloud, she curtly asked him to be quiet. "I wish to
sleep!" snapped she.
"Do, dear," urged he. And he put his arm around her.
"That's very uncomfortable," said she, trying to draw away.
He drew her back, held her--and she knew she must either submit or
make a scene. There was small attraction to scene-making with such
a master of disgraceful and humiliating scenes as he. "He wouldn't
care a rap," she muttered. "He simply revels in scenes, knowing
he's sure to win out at them as a mongrel in a fight with a"--even
in that trying moment her sense of humor did not leave her--"with
a lapdog.
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