Various were the names suggested by Mrs. Bennet, and rejected by her husband, some on one ground, and some on another, still with the same ending—"I wish you could like Ruth"—until wearied by the discussion, and hopeless of gaining anything by its continuance, she replied to his request that she would please herself—
"Let her be called Ruth, if you prefer it."
"How delighted I am that we are always of the same opinion at last—it quite repays me for the concession some might imagine me to make in submitting these things to the judgment of my wife."
As years passed on, and matters of greater importance came up for decision, Mrs. Bennet was sometimes compelled from principle to abide by her own opinion, though at an expense of personal comfort which few could appreciate. She had yielded so long and so often to the wearisome pertinacity of her husband, that when she first dared to do what he had always boasted of permitting, he could hardly credit his senses.
"Do you really mean," he inquired one day, long after the scene we have just described, "to forbid young Barton's visiting our children?"
"Did you not tell me to do just as I pleased about it?"
"Yes, to be sure—but I thought you would of course take my advice about it, as usual."
"I could not, because I know, what you do not, that young Barton is a depraved and dangerous character, and Ruth and Harry are just of an age to be attracted by the false glitter of his external advantages. Where the temporal and eternal welfare of my children is concerned, my dear husband, you must allow me to follow my own convictions of duty. In all things where conscience is not concerned, I shall, as I have uniformly done, yield my own preference and wishes to yours."
"Well," said Mr. Bennet to himself, as he turned away, "women are inexplicable beings, and I begin to think neighbour Wilson's way of managing them is better than mine, after all. If you give them even a loophole to creep out at, they will be sure, sooner or later, to rebel openly, and set up for themselves. I am too old to change now, but if I were to begin life again, I would manage so as to secure submission from my wife on all points. It is the only way to preserve domestic harmony."
It was at the close of a lovely day in the "month of roses," that Robert Manly brought his youthful bride to their own pleasant home, and for the fist time, welcomed her as its mistress. They were both very happy, for young love shed its roseate hues over all around, and they had just spoken those solemn words which bound them to each other, in joy and sorrow, sickness and health, prosperity and adversity, till separated by death.