He took no notice, but addressed himself to Mr. Dugdale. “Nay, Duke, you and your benevolences are too hard upon us young married people. We must tighten our purse-strings against you this time.”
Agatha's cheek flamed. “But if I wish it”—
“Dear, it cannot be, we cannot afford it.”
Agatha moved angrily from his side, and soon after, though not so soon as to attract notice to him or herself, she quitted the room. Scarcely had she reached her own when she heard a step behind her.
“Are you angry with me, my wife, and for such a little thing?”
Nathanael stood there, holding both her hands, and looking down upon her with a face so kind, so regretful, so grave, that she felt ashamed of the quick storm which had ruffled her own spirit The cause of this did seem now a very “little thing.” She hung her head, child-like, and made no answer.
“Why is it,” said Mr. Harper, putting his arm round her—“why is it that we are always having these 'little things' rising up to trouble us? Why cannot we bear with one another, and take the chance-happiness that falls to our lot? It is not much, I fear”—
She looked uneasy.
“Nay, perhaps that is chiefly my fault. I often wish Heaven had given you a better husband, Agatha.”
And his countenance was so softened, mournful, and tender, that Agatha's affection returned. There was something childish and foolish in these small wranglings. They wore her patience away. For the twentieth time she vowed not to make herself unhappy, or restless, or cross, but to take Nathanael's goodness as she saw it, believing in it and him. Since according to that wise speech of Harriet—which even Anne Valery smiled at and did not deny—the best of men were very disagreeable at times, and no man's good qualities ever came out thoroughly until he had been married for at least a year.