“That’s true man’s reasoning,” said Mrs. Howard, good-naturedly. “But, Mr. Morrison, I think I am not mistaken when I say that if Ralph had managed his pretty, petted, capricious fairy of a wife patiently and properly, their happiness would not have been wrecked as it is.”
“_Their_ happiness!” repeated Mr. Morrison, sneeringly. “Little she cares, while she has aunt to caress her and uncle’s money to spend.”
“Indeed you do her great injustice,” said Mrs. Howard. “To be sure, I do not know Mrs. Murray intimately, but I am certain if you were to see her pale, wretched face and frail figure, as I do daily in the corridor, when they bring her in, half fainting, from the bath, you would think as I do—that, let her husband’s sufferings be ever so great, the wife suffers quite as much. Oh, my dear Mr. Morrison, how I wish I were Edda Murray’s friend.”
“What would you do, my dear madam? Add another to her host of sympathizers?” said the old gentleman.
“No,” replied Mrs. Howard, mildly; “I would tell her to send for Ralph, to ask pardon for the past and patience for the future, and beg him to take me once more to his heart, and help me to be a good, faithful wife. This she must do, or never know peace in this life.”
“Ha, ha,” laughed Mr. Morrison; “why, my dear Mrs. Howard, if she had sense and feeling enough to act thus, she would never have behaved as she has done.”
“Edda Murray has acted willfully and selfishly, I admit,” said Mrs. Howard; “but we do not know what provocations she may have had. Ralph is a fine, noble fellow, but arbitrary and impatient—the very kind of man that I should fancy it would not be easy to make happy in domestic life, even if a judicious woman were to undertake the task. Think, then, how many excuses should be made for his impulsive, wayward little wife, who never in her life was subjected to control. I am certain this trouble has done her good, however, for a woman’s character is seldom properly developed in prosperity; like precious metals, it must pass through the fiery furnace of affliction—it must be purified in the crucible of sorrow, until it loses all recollection of self. There is a beautiful simile in the Bible, which compares the purification of the soul to the smelting of silver. Silver must be purged from all dross, until it is so clear and mirror-like that it will reflect the countenance of the refiner; thus the soul must be so pure, in so high a state of godliness, as to reflect only the will of the Creator. I cannot recall the passage exactly, but I often apply it to my own sex, whose characters, to be properly developed, must be purged from all selfish dross, in order to make them think only of the happiness of others—forgetful always of self; then, like silver seven times refined and purified, their spirits reflect only the countenance of the purifier, which is the will or command of God.”