The large house was taken, and various were the discomforts experienced by Mrs. Bennet in her new abode. The chimneys smoked, the rain came in through numerous crevices in the roof, and the wide halls, and lofty apartments, many of which were unfurnished, struck a chill to the heart of the lonely wife, who, if she visited them after sunset, trembled at the sound of her own footfalls echoing through the house. But she made few complaints, and Mr. Bennet, even if aware of some trifling annoyances, was happy in the consciousness that he had magnanimously submitted to his wife the choice of a habitation. Fortunately for him, that wife was a woman of sense, firmness, and principle, who studied her husband's peculiarities that she might as far as possible adapt herself to them; though, it must be confessed, the attempt was often fruitless, and she was compelled to acknowledge to her own heart, that the open assumption of authority is not the only way in which domestic despotism manifests itself.
When Mr. Bennet became a father, in the first gush of parental emotion he forgot even the exercise of the veto, in reference to the arrangements for the comfort of the little stranger, so that for a few weeks the happy mother carried out her own plans without any interference.
"Have you decided on a name for this dear little girl?" said Mrs. Bennet, as they sat together, one morning, caressing the object of so many hopes, and of so much affection.
"I wish you to name her, my dear," he replied; "it is your privilege to do so."
"I should like to call her Mary, if you have no objection—it is the name of my mother, therefore very dear to me."
"Is it possible you can like that common name so well? For my part I am tired of the very sight and sound of it. It can be nicknamed, too, and Molly, you must confess, is not very euphonious. I hoped you might choose the name of Ruth: it is a scriptural name, simple and sweet."
"It happens, unfortunately, to be one I particularly dislike, but as you do not like Mary, perhaps we can select one in which we shall both agree. What do you say to Martha? It is our sister's name, and a scriptural one also," she added, with a smile.
"Oh, I should never think of anything but Patty. Surely you could select a better name than that. Ruth is much prettier—what a pity you do not like it! I admire it greatly; but my taste is not much. Well, please yourself, only I am sorry you cannot fancy Ruth."
"How would you like Lucy? There can be no objection to that on the score of nicknames, and it is easily spoken."
"Yes, and so is Polly, if that were all. But you must think of some other name beside Lucy. I once knew a girl of that name who was my perfect aversion, and she has spoiled it for me. Ruth is the best name, after all, pity you cannot think so. But choose something else, if you please."