"Please take a seat, Jenny," said the young wife, wearily.
Jenny sat down on the lounge, and Gertrude took up her position at the window again. It was still as death in the room and in the whole house.
"It would have been wiser if you had not married at all, Gertrude," began her sister, with a sigh.
"But, it can't be helped--you are tied fast--oh, yes! You must put up with everything, you must not even have an opinion of your own, I am quite ill too from the vexation I had last evening. At last I ran up to mamma. She was dreadfully frightened when she saw me standing before her bed in my night-dress. I cried all night long. This morning I waited. I thought he would come up for me, he was usually so remorseful--but he didn't come and as I was taking breakfast with mamma Sophie brought me a card from him in which he very coolly informed me that he had gone to Manchester for a fortnight. Well--I wish him a happy journey!"
Gertrude made no reply.
"You must not take it so dreadfully to heart, child," continued the young matron. "Good gracious, it is well it is no worse. All women have something to put up with and sometimes it is far worse than this."
"Have they?" asked Gertrude, in a low voice.
"Yes, of course!" cried Jenny, in surprise.
"Do you think a woman can take up her bundle and march off? Bah! Then no woman would stay with her husband a moment. No, no,--people get reconciled to one another and they just take the first opportunity to pay each other off. That is always great fun for me. Just you see, pet, how good Arthur will be when he comes back; for a whole month he will be the nicest husband in the world."
"That would be an impossibility for me," cried Gertrude, clearly and firmly. "To-day bitter as death, to-morrow fondly loving; it is simply shameful."