"At midnight!" It was the last drop in the cup of gall, she thought. "Why, we'd get to Lenox, or to some place where we'd have to change again, long before morning! Josh, you must be out of your senses. It's a perfect outrage!" "Best I could do," said he, laughing uproariously and patting her on the back. "Cheer up. You can sleep on my shoulder until we get to Albany." "We will go on to New York," said she stiffly, "and leave from there in the morning." "Can't do it," said he. "Must change at Albany. You ought to learn to control your temper over these little inconveniences of life. I've brought a volume of Emerson's essays along and I'll read to you if you don't want to sleep." "I hate to be read aloud to. Joshua, let's go on to New York. Such a night of horror as you've planned will wear me out." "I tell you it's impossible. I've done the best thing in the circumstances. You'll see." Suddenly she sprang up, looked wildly round. "Where's Selina?" she gasped. "Coming to-morrow or next day," replied he. "I sent her to the camp for some things I forgot." She sank back and said no more. Again she was tempted to revolt against such imbecile tyranny; and again, as she debated the situation, the wisdom, the necessity of submitting became apparent. How would it sound to have to explain to her grandmother that she had left him because he took an inconvenient train? "I'd like to see him try this sort of thing if we'd been married six months instead of six weeks," she muttered. She refused to talk with him, answered him in cold monosyllables. And after dinner, when he produced the volume of Emerson and began to read aloud, she curtly asked him to be quiet. "I wish to sleep!" snapped she. "Do, dear," urged he. And he put his arm around her. "That's very uncomfortable," said she, trying to draw away. He drew her back, held her--and she knew she must either submit or make a scene. There was small attraction to scene-making with such a master of disgraceful and humiliating scenes as he. "He wouldn't care a rap," she muttered. "He simply revels in scenes, knowing he's sure to win out at them as a mongrel in a fight with a"--even in that trying moment her sense of humor did not leave her--"with a lapdog." She found herself comfortable and amazingly content, leaning against his shoulder; and presently she went to sleep, he holding the book in his free hand and reading calmly. The next thing she knew he was shaking her gently. "Albany," he said. "We've got to change here."