I agreed with her.
“I am very sorry, Lilian; but I did everything with the hope of pleasing you.”
“Now here’s a pretty kettle of fish!” exclaimed my indignant bride. “What can we do?”
“I can’t alter the house, my dear, but I can change the furniture so as to suit you, though doing so will be very expensive,” I continued, meekly, as I endeavored to conciliate her.
We had been married only about four months, and the present occasion looked very much like a quarrel. I had not had the remotest suspicion that she was so spunky. It did occur to me that she was slightly unreasonable, if one so beautiful could be unreasonable. Her father was as poor as a church mouse. His house, as I have hinted, was meanly furnished, and certainly neither the house nor the furniture was worthy to be compared with the one I had provided for my little wife. She had no reason for putting on airs, and being so fiercely critical about the carpets and the chairs. They were vastly better than she had ever had at home.
“Do you think I will live in this house, Paley Glasswood?” said she, with her lips compressed and her eyes snapping with indignation.
“Why, I hope so,” I replied, more astonished than she had been at any time during the visit to the new house.
“You are mistaken, Paley Glasswood. I am your wife, but not your slave; I am not to be dragged from my home when and where you please. You ought to have told me what you intended to do in the beginning.”
“I know it now; and I confess that I was wrong,” I replied, with due humility, and, I may add, with perfect sincerity. “I hope you will forgive me, this time Lilian, and I will never be guilty of such an offence again.”
“I should hope not. But here we are! What’s to be done with this house and furniture?”