Unmoved, Griselda, without raising her leaden eyes, answered in a cold voice, “I am very sorry that you should have felt any concern upon my account.”
“Any! my love; you do not know how much I have felt this night.”
She looked upon him with civil disbelief; and replied, “that she was sure she ought to be much obliged to him.”
This frigid politeness repressed his affection: he was silent for some moments.
“My dear Griselda,” said he, “this is not the way in which we should live together; we who have every thing that can make us contented: do not let us throw away our happiness for trifles not worth thinking of.”
“If we are not happy, it is not my fault,” said Griselda.
“We will not inquire whose fault it is, my dear; let the blame rest upon me: let the past be forgotten; let us look towards the future. In future, let us avoid childish altercations, and live like reasonable creatures. I have the highest opinion of your sex in general, and of you in particular; I wish to live with my wife as my equal, my friend; I do not desire that my will should govern: where our inclinations differ, let reason decide between us; or where it is a matter not worth reasoning about, let us alternately yield to one another.” He paused.
“I do not desire or expect that you should ever henceforward yield to my wishes either in trifles or in matters of consequence,” replied Griselda, with provoking meekness; “you have taught me my duty: the duty of a wife is to submit; and submit I hope I shall in future, without reply or reasoning, to your sovereign will and pleasure.”
“Nay, my dear,” said he, “do not treat me as a brutal tyrant, when I wish to do every thing in my power to make you happy. Use your own excellent understanding, and I shall always, I hope, be inclined to yield to your reasons.”
“I shall never trouble you with my reasons; I shall never use my own understanding in the least: I know that men cannot bear understanding in women; I shall always, as it is my duty, submit to your better judgment.”