“What do you mean dear? Of course we must expect some troubles, like other people.”
“Why, I mean, Mary that you might, at least, have married a contented man, some one who found the world a very good world, and was satisfied with things as they are, and had light enough to steer himself by; and not a fellow like me, full of all manner of doubts and perplexities, who sees little but wrong in the world about him, and more in himself.”
“You think I should have been more comfortable?”
“Yes, more comfortable and happier. What right had I to bring my worries on you? For I know you can't live with me, dearest, and not be bothered and annoyed when I am anxious and dissatisfied.”
“But what if I did not marry you to be comfortable?”
“My darling, you never thought about it, and I was too selfish to think for you.”
“There now, you see, it's just as I said.”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean that you are quite wrong in thinking that I have been deceived. I did not marry you, dear, to be comfortable, and I did think it all over; ay, over and over again. So you are not to run away with the belief that you have taken me in.”
“I shall be glad enough to give it up, dearest, if you can convince me.”