“You have no heart to break,” cried she.—The carriage drove to the door.
“One word more, before I leave you for ever, Mr. Bolingbroke,” continued she.—“Blame yourself, not me, for all this.—When we were first married, you humoured, you spoiled me; no temper could bear it.—Take the consequences of your own weak indulgence.—Farewell.”
He made no effort to retain her, and she left the room.
——“Thus it shall befall
Him who to worth in woman overtrusting
Lets tier will rule: restraint she will not brook;
And left to herself, if evil thence ensue,
She first his weak indulgence will accuse.”
A confused recollection of this warning of Adam’s was in Mr. Bolingbroke’s head at this moment.
Mrs. Bolingbroke’s carriage drove by the window, and she kissed her hand to him as she passed. He had not sufficient presence of mind to return the compliment. Our heroine enjoyed this last triumph of superior temper.
Whether the victory was worth the winning, whether the modern Griselda persisted in her spirited sacrifice of happiness, whether she was ever reconciled to her husband, or whether the fear of “reforming and growing stupid” prevailed, are questions which we leave to the sagacity or the curiosity of her fair contemporaries.
“He that knows better how to tame a shrew,
Let him now speak, ‘tis charity to shew.”