Even the absence of her husband could not dim the interest of Mrs. Farnshaw in the coming spectacle of her daughter's marriage. With the capacity of a little child to suffer from unkindness or neglect, she combined the same child-like capability to enjoy pageantry of any sort. Benches for curious neighbours surrounded Mrs. Farnshaw's bed when she retired, and unaccustomed things filled every nook of the usually unattractive room. Evergreen boughs stared at her from the corner opposite her bed; the bed was to be removed in the morning. It had been her own romantic idea to have a bower for the bride and groom. She had been so busy making that bower that she had forgotten her own troubles for an hour and more, but she remembered them now and her interest died out. With a quivering indrawn breath she turned out the light and dived into the huge feather-bed, smothering her sobs by crushing her pillow against her face. Elizabeth, upstairs, had her own disappointments to go over, and her mother's sobbing coloured her ruminations. Her vision had been cleared. In spite of youth, and of humiliation, she saw that the blow that had undone her had been accidental. She saw what the encouragement of temper would lead to. She saw the gradual growth and stimulation of that temper in the daily contentions of her father and mother. She rubbed her bruises and thought long on the troubles about her. Accusations and defence, she decided, were at the root of them. They were the universal topics of the conversations at home and among all the people she had ever known except the Hornbys and the Chamberlains. "Defence!" she said in a scornful whisper. "What does it matter _who_ is wrong in anything? The only thing that matters is _what_ is wrong and to find a way to make it come out better next time," and at last went to sleep quite unaware that she had evolved a philosophy which rightly applied would reorganize the world. CHAPTER XI "WIVES, SUBMIT YOURSELVES UNTO YOUR HUSBANDS, AS UNTO THE LORD" The day after the wedding was Friday, or "sweep day," as Mrs. Hunter called it. Anxious to begin as she expected to hold out, and to form regular habits in John's wife, Mrs. Hunter superintended the housecleaning processes.