“I would rather that she should take warning by me,” said Griselda, laughing. “But to be candid, I must tell you that to some people’s taste she is a pattern wife—a perfect Grizzle. She and I should have changed names—or characters. Which, my dear?” cried she, appealing to her husband.
“Not names, my dear,” answered he.
The conversation might here have ended happily, but unluckily our heroine could not be easily satisfied before Mrs. Nettleby, to whom she was proud of showing her conjugal ascendancy.
“My dear,” said she to her husband, “a-propos to pattern wives: you have read Chaucer’s Tales. Do you seriously like or dislike the real, original, old Griselda?”
“It is so long since I have seen her that I cannot tell,” replied he.
“Then, my dear, you must read the story over again, and tell me without evasion.”
“And if he could read it before Mrs. Granby and me, what a compliment that would be to one bride,” added the malicious Mrs. Nettleby, “and what a lesson for another!”
“Oh, it must be so! it must be so!” cried Griselda. “I will ask her here on purpose to a reading party; and you, my dear Mrs. Nettleby, will come for your lesson. You, my love, who read so well—and who, I am sure, will be delighted to pay a compliment to your favourite, Mrs. Granby—you will read, and I will—weep. On what day shall it be? Let me see: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, I’m engaged: but Sunday is only a party at home; I can put that off:—then Sunday let it be.”
“Sunday, I am unluckily engaged, my dear,” said her husband.
“Engaged? Oh, nonsense! You have no engagements of any consequence: and when I put off my party on purpose to have the pleasure of hearing you read, oblige me, my love, for once.”