In the course of a few months the young wife, with the assistance of aunts and sisters, had established her over-rule in the house. Frithiof remained, what he had always been, the youngest and dullest member of the household. His advice was sometimes asked for, but never acted upon; he was looked after as if he were still a child. His wife soon found it unbearable to dine with him alone, for he kept an obstinate silence during the meal. Louisa could not stand it; she must have a lightning conductor; one of the sisters removed into the wing.
Frithiof made more than one attempt to emancipate himself, but his attempts were always frustrated by the enemy; they were too many for him, and they talked and preached until he fled into the wood.
The evenings held terror for him. He hated the bedroom, and went to it as to a place of execution. He became morose and avoided everybody.
They had been married for a year now, and still there was no promise of a child; his mother took him aside one day to have a talk to him.
“Wouldn’t you like to have a son?” she asked.
“Of course, I would,” he replied.
“You aren’t treating your wife very kindly,” said the mother as gently as possible.
He lost his temper.
“What? What do you say? Are you finding fault with me? Do you want me to toil all day long? H’m! You don’t know Louisa! But whose business is it but mine? Bring your charge against me in such a way that I can answer it!”
But the mother was not disposed to do that.