“Ay, always some excuse. It is perfectly useless, my dear Miss Ellen,” interrupted he, and I expected from the expression of wo he assumed, to see him burst into tears, “it is perfectly useless for me to purchase any articles of value for my house. Every thing goes to ruin;” and he shrugged his shoulders, mournfully looking around for sympathy. “And in the meantime, Ellen is waiting for a glass of wine,” said Isabel, “and I for a piece of that tongue before you.” “Oh! I beg pardon—I am neglecting my duty as host; but you must really excuse me, I am so shocked—so often surprised at the destruction of property—” “Josy, do give Ellen some of that pine-apple jam,” interrupted Isabel, looking as though she had not heard Mr. Bettyman speak, “I want her to see what excellent preservers we are. Indeed, I never tasted better sweetmeats than those we made this season.” “Nearly an entire barrel of the finest crush sugar consumed! I hope that Josephine will acquire more knowledge of economy as she grows older,” said Mr. Bettyman, encouragingly. “A half pound to three-quarters of fruit, I remember, was my mother’s rule—and I mentioned this to Josephine.” “My dear cousin, what a pity you were not born an old lady!” said Isabel, gravely, “you are too good for a man.” My politeness was very nearly upset by this sally, and I looked at Edwin. He seemed rather _flattered_, yet doubtfully examined his cousin’s eyes, deceived by the gravity of her tone into an assurance of her sincerity. Still the appellation of old woman was not very respectful, and while he pondered in silence, we talked without further interruption. His wife was evidently mortified, as must be the case on the introduction of any stranger into her domestic circle; but her sweet and amiable manner throughout all, was truly commendable. I must own my perfect astonishment at Mr. Bettyman’s meddling disposition. I had never seen such an exhibition before, but concealed my feelings, and ate lunch enough to frighten him, had he been actuated by avarice. But he was not a “stingy man;” he had no meanness about him. Providing handsomely for his house, lavishing every comfort upon his wife, loving her with true devotion, he embittered her life by this love of control, this singular passion for leaving his sphere of husband to interfere with her household cares in a way as unmanly as it was annoying. His place was as intrusive there as Josephine’s would have been in his counting-room. As well might she seat herself at his desk and examine his books—and what would he have thought and said, had she ever attempted it? Surely Mr. Bettyman, like Lady Macbeth, unsexed himself. Isabel and I were too busy chatting to notice his display of old ladyism, by any remark to one another; and as I then concluded it to be merely an accidental humor of Mr. Bettyman’s, I descended to the breakfast-room the next morning, more and more delighted with my change of apartments, from the refreshing sleep I had enjoyed.