“Do these unhappy marriages always result from the thoughtlessness and selfishness of the wives, my dear sir?” asked Mrs. Howard. “I think there are as many wives with domestic tastes, who have the same complaint to make against their husbands.” “Yes, yes,” answered Mr. Morrison, a little hesitatingly; “I suppose there is blame to be found on both sides; but generally speaking, with the married people of what is called ‘society,’ especially the young, the fault lies with the wife. Yesterday I bade good-bye to as fine a fellow as God ever created, whose whole happiness for life has been wrecked by one of these silly, heartless fools. You know him, my dear madam, and are, I believe, one of his few friends; for the whole world unite in condemning him and upholding his doll-baby wife in her sinful disobedience.” “You are speaking of Ralph Murray, I am sure,” said Mrs. Howard, in a sad tone. Poor Edda writhed, but she had not power to move; she felt spell-bound, and every word of the conversation fell on her ear with painful clearness. “Yes, I mean Murray,” replied Mr. Morrison. “God help him, poor fellow! His haggard face haunts me like a ghost.” “But,” said Mrs. Howard, “much as I love Ralph, much as I respect his high, honorable character, I cannot hold him blameless.” “What!” exclaimed Mr. Morrison, in a tone of surprise, “you cannot hold him blameless? Why, what can you see wrong in any thing he has done?” “He should not have married as he did,” replied Mrs. Howard; “or if determined to gratify his fancy at the expense of his judgment, by yielding to an infatuation, he should have had more patience with his wife. If he felt willing to trust his happiness in the hands of a petted, spoiled child, he should have remembered what she was, in the hour of trial, and not exacted of her the ability and judgment which are possessed only by a sensible, well-trained woman.” “Yes, you are right,” answered Mr. Morrison, after a short pause; “he was wrong in the first place—he never should have married such an idiot. But, my God, madam,” he exclaimed, impatiently, “any woman who was lucky enough to get such a noble husband as Ralph Murray, should have been so proud of him as to have been willing to have made every sacrifice of whim and caprice for his comfort.” “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.”