I shall begin to lead her thoughts gently back to her duties
by inquiring every day anxiously after her husband's health.
She is not very fond of him, because he does not run and hold
the door open for her every time she gets up to leave the room;
and though she has asked him to do so, and told him how much
she wishes he would, he still won't. She stayed once in a house
where there was an Englishman, and his nimbleness in regard
to doors and chairs so impressed her that her husband has
had no peace since, and each time she has to go out of a room
she is reminded of her disregarded wishes, so that a shut
door is to her symbolic of the failure of her married life,
and the very sight of one makes her wonder why she was born;
at least, that is what she told me once, in a burst of confidence.
He is quite a nice, harmless little man, pleasant to talk to,
good-tempered, and full of fun ; but he thinks he is too old
to begin to learn new and uncomfortable ways, and he has
that horror of being made better by his wife that distinguishes
so many righteous men, and is shared by the Man of Wrath,
who persists in holding his glass in his left hand at meals,
because if he did not (and I don't believe he particularly
likes doing it) his relations might say that marriage has
improved him, and thus drive the iron into his soul.
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