"However, I displayed no longer the little morocco things that I had bought, but brought them home surreptitiously, placing them in the corners of the bookcase. I concealed them in my newspaper of an evening, or had them sent home when my wife was out shopping, or visiting her friends. Sometimes she would catch me _flagrante delicto_, as I would stealthily remove my beloved from its brown wrapping-paper; or catch me napping with a first edition that she was sure she had not seen before.
"The situation grew intolerable. I could not bear to have some one who had promised to obey me, taunting me at every turn, remorselessly dropping an Elzevir on the floor, or shattering my nerves by insolently showing me a receipted bill for a presentation copy of 'Endymion.' I tried to be gentle with her, to reason with her, to tell her what a scholarly thing I was doing,--but it was of no avail. She became actually jealous of my books. She looked with distrust at every parcel that arrived; she was suspicious of everything that had the _appearance_ of a book.
"At first she was only mildly oppressive; she now became severe, scolding continually, making my life a burden. She said my love of books was unnatural, wicked, unspeakable. I could stand it no longer; I could not live with a woman who treated me in so cruel a way. When I told her this she was docile at first, but the fire broke out anew at some new victory of mine in the auction rooms, which one of my spiteful friends told her about. Matthews was always jealous of me, because I had more courage than he and snatched the uncut 'Comus' from him when it was almost within his grasp.
"I tried no longer to bear with my wife--she was a vixen, a mad woman, a very devil. I resolved to divorce her--but on what grounds? I could not think of a single charge that could be placed before a jury,--American juries generally consisted of the most stupid and unimaginative men. My wife said she ought to secure the action on the grounds of infidelity,--that I loved my first folio of Shakespeare more than I did her!
"Things came to a climax at last. The famous library of Richard Appleton was to be sold at auction. I was intensely excited, as you can imagine. I read the catalogue item by item, word by word. I marked with ink the things I most _needed_ and determined to buy a few exquisite volumes even at the risk of bankruptcy. And there was 'Les Quinze Joyes de Mariage,' the first edition in the superb binding made by Nicolas Eve for Diane de Poitiers. I had resolved to purchase it many years ago when Appleton wrested it from me at the Amherst sale. I had even waited for his death knowing it would again come upon the market. I resolved to have it at all costs. The eventful day arrived. I went to the rooms in person. The little volume started at one hundred dollars and rose to three thousand. It was already beyond my means. I just had to have it. I nodded. There was no other bid.