“He is certainly very amiable and good-natured,” said Isabel, looking after him affectionately, for he deserved the eulogium. Feeling the justice of his wife’s complaint, he did not, as many, oh, how many! would have done in his place, fly into a rage, and exert that tyranny of marital power which every day some lord of the creation delights to show. Refuse, in virtue of that very power, to acknowledge my wrong, and turn a “heaven into a hell” of domestic discord. “He is certainly very amiable,” continued Isabel, “and divested of this unpleasant mania, will make the best husband in the world.”
“He will, indeed,” said his wife, looking much gratified. “I have never seen any one with a more lovely disposition than Edwin. He is never cross, even in the midst of his housekeeping,” and she laughed. So did I, and I could not but wish that Edwin’s week of probation were well over. Meddling with pantries, cellars and kitchens, was his second nature, and we took our seats around the well-supplied dinner-table, awaiting with some curiosity the results of the morning compact. Soup being served, Martin proceeded to remove the plates and bring in the second course. Alas! alas!
“How is this Martin? What a waste of vegetables! Josy, my dear—” He stopped, and we all burst into a laugh, in which he had to join.
“The bond is broken,” said Josephine at length. “I did hope and pray for your triumph, my dear Edwin. Take back the keys.”
“Will no one intercede for me?” said he, with a woful look. “May I not have one more trial, ladies—only one more?” He was really mortified and distressed.
“Give him one more, Josy,” cried I, pitying him, for he had really a victory to win. “Let this one little mistake be thrown from the balance.”
“Be it so,” said she, “but let this be the last. I grant no more grace, Mr. Edwin Bettyman; remember the warning in time.”
Once I saved him, while Isabel and his wife were busy in the parlor covering picture frames. The pantry door stood open, he glanced in and could not resist the temptation and entered. I heard him rummaging about in there, among dishes, plates, and finally the tins began to rattle. Suddenly he appeared, with a cake pan in one hand and a cheese mould in the other. Taking me at the moment for Josy, he commenced, “I have rubbed my finger around the inside of these pans, my dear, and—”