“Different women have different sources of pride, that make their husbands very uncomfortable, even when they remain with them, and affect to discharge their duties. One will pride herself on family, and take every occasion to let her beloved partner know how much better she is connected than he may happen to be; another is conceited, and fancies herself cleverer than her lord and master, and would fain have him take _her_ advice on all occasions; while a third may have the most money, and delight in letting it be known that it is _her_ pocket that sustains the household.” “I did not know, John, that you thought so much of these things,” said Anna, laughing; “though I think you are very right in your opinions. Pray, which of the three evils that you have mentioned would you conceive the greatest?” “The second. I might stand family pride; though it is disgusting when it is not ridiculous. Then the money might be got along with for its own sake, provided the purse were in my hand; but I really do not think I could live with a woman who fancied she knew the most.” “But, in many things, women ought to, and _do_ know the most.” “Oh! as to accomplishments, and small talk, and making preserves, and dancing, and even poetry and religion—yes, I will throw in religion—I could wish my wife to be clever—very clever—as clever as you are yourself, Anna”—The fair listener coloured, though her eyes brightened at this unintended but very direct compliment—“Yes, yes; all that would do well enough. But when it came to the affairs of men, out-of-door concerns, or politics, or law, or anything, indeed, that called for a masculine education and understanding, I could not endure a woman who fancied she knew the most.” “I should think few wives would dream of troubling their husbands with their opinions touching the law!” “I don’t know that. You’ve no notion, Anna, to what a pass conceit can carry a person;—you, who are so diffident and shy, and always so ready to yield to those who ought to know best. I’ve met with women who, not content with arraying their own charms in their own way, must fancy they can teach us how to put on our clothes, tell us how to turn over a wristband, or settle a shirt-collar!” “This is not conceit, John, but good taste,” cried Anna, now laughing outright, and appearing herself again. “It is merely female tact teaching male awkwardness how to adorn itself. But, surely, no woman, John, would bother herself about law, let her love of domination be as strong as it might.” “I’m not so sure of that. The only really complaisant thing I ever saw about this Mary Monson”—a cloud again passed athwart the bright countenance of Anna—“was a sort of strange predilection for law. Even Timms has remarked it, and commented on it too.” “The poor woman——” “Do not use that word in speaking of her, if you please, Anna.” “Well, lady—if you like that better——” “No—say young lady—or Miss Monson—or Mary, which has the most agreeable sound of all.”