Mrs. Rutherford took her leave, wondering to find Mrs. Garrison, a lady in every sense of the word, so full of what she considered very odd notions; and did not fail, at dinner, to communicate to her husband the impression she had received.
“I am thankful,” he replied, “that she is a woman of some sense. I beg your pardon, wife, but really your head is completely turned upon the subject of furniture, dress, etc.; and if Mrs. Garrison will set it right, she will do the greatest piece of service in the world that could be rendered to a poor fellow like me.”
“Why, Mr. Rutherford, I flattered myself you were quite proud of your wife. I am sure it is as much on your account as my own, that I wish to hold my proper place in society.”
“Your proper place! Yes, I wish to heaven that would content you; but you do make capital pies, wife, I confess,” he said, as he tasted a delicious tart. Mrs. Rutherford was more gratified by his commendation, than she would have been had she understood its full import.
Meanwhile Mrs. Garrison, in relating to her husband the events of the morning, said: “We talked, you know, of adapting ourselves to the tastes, manners, and habits of the country; but here is a village lady whose head is as full of fashions, modes, and rules of etiquette, as the finest town-lady’s of them all. How should it happen?”
“An empty-headed woman I’ll be bound,” replied Mr. Garrison.
“Well, as to that I cannot tell. She certainly gave no great signs of intellectual cultivation, and that is the case with most of our fine ladies in town; but one would suppose that in the country, if a woman did not love books, she might busy herself in her domestic occupations, with bees, birds, flowers, etc., without being driven to dress and fashion as a refuge from the ennui of a vacant mind.”
“What a strange race we are,” rejoined her husband, “to make it our boast that we are rational beings. I think, if those to whom man is said to be only a little lower look down upon this busy scene, the pursuits of the greater part of men, and women too, must seem just about as important as the children’s sport of blowing soap-bubbles seems to us. One thing I have to congratulate myself upon—the principal lawyer in the village, Mr. Rutherford, is a very clever, sensible, respectable man.”
“He must be this very lady’s husband.”
“Poor fellow! I am sorry for him then.”