“If I didn’t sit with her in the drawing-room while Sir Thomas is taking his wine,” said she, “she would never forgive me; and then, if I leave the room the instant he comes—as I have done once or twice—it is an unpardonable offence against her dear Thomas. _She_ never showed such disrespect to _her_ husband: and as for affection, wives never think of that now-a-days, she supposes: but things were different in _her_ time—as if there was any good to be done by staying in the room, when he does nothing but grumble and scold when he’s in a bad humour, talk disgusting nonsense when he’s in a good one, and go to sleep on the sofa when he’s too stupid for either; which is most frequently the case now, when he has nothing to do but to sot over his wine.” “But could you not try to occupy his mind with something better; and engage him to give up such habits? I’m sure you have powers of persuasion, and qualifications for amusing a gentleman, which many ladies would be glad to possess.” “And so you think I would lay myself out for his amusement! No: that’s not _my_ idea of a wife. It’s the husband’s part to please the wife, not hers to please him; and if he isn’t satisfied with her as she is—and thankful to possess her too—he isn’t worthy of her, that’s all. And as for persuasion, I assure you I shan’t trouble myself with that: I’ve enough to do to bear with him as he is, without attempting to work a reform. But I’m sorry I left you so long alone, Miss Grey. How have you passed the time?” “Chiefly in watching the rooks.” “Mercy, how dull you must have been! I really must show you the library; and you must ring for everything you want, just as you would in an inn, and make yourself comfortable. I have selfish reasons for wishing to make you happy, because I want you to stay with me, and not fulfil your horrid threat of running away in a day or two.” “Well, don’t let me keep you out of the drawing-room any longer to-night, for at present I am tired and wish to go to bed.” CHAPTER XXIII. THE PARK