I was proceeding—­But he rudely, gravely, and even with an air of scorn, [There was no bearing that, you know,] admonished me.  A little less wit, madam, and a little more discretion, would perhaps better become you.

This was too true to be forgiven.  You’ll say it, Harriet, if I don’t.  And to come from a man that was not overburdened with either—­But I had too great a command of myself to say so.  My dependence, my lord, [This I did say,] is upon your judgment:  that will always be a balance to my wit; and, with the assistance of your reproving love, will in time teach me discretion.

Now, my dear, was not this a high compliment to him?  Ought he not to have taken it as such?  Especially as I looked grave, and dropt him a very fine courtesy.  But either his conscience or his ill-nature, (perhaps you’ll say both,) made him take it as a reflection, [True as you are alive, Harriet!] He bit his lip.  Jenny, begone, said he—­Jenny, don’t go, said I—­Jenny knew not which to obey.  Upon my word, Harriet, I began to think the man would have cuffed me.—­And while he was in his airs of mock-majesty, I stept to the door, and whipt down to my company.

As married people are not to expose themselves to their friends, (who I once heard you sagely remark, would remember disagreeable things, when the honest pair had forgotten them,) I was determined to be prudent.  You would have been charmed with me, my dear, for my discretion.  I will cheat by-standers, thought I; I will make my Lord and Lady L——­, Dr. Bartlett, and Emily, whom I had before set in at cards, think we are egregiously happy—­And down I sat, intending, with a lamb-like peaceableness, to make observations on the play.  But soon after, in whipt my indiscreet lord, his colour heightened, his features working:  and though I cautioned him not to expose himself, yet he assumed airs that were the occasion, as you shall hear, of frightening away my company.  He withdrew, in consequence of those airs; and, after a little while, (repenting, as I hoped,) he sent for me out.  Some wives would have played the queen Vashti on their tyrant, and refused to go:  but I, all obedience, (my vow, so recently made, in my head,) obeyed, at the very first word:  yet you must think that I (meek as I am naturally) could not help recriminating.  He was too lordly to be expostulated with.—­ There was, ‘I tell you, madam,’ and ‘I won’t be told, sir;’ and when I broke from the passionate creature, and hoped to find my company, behold! they were all gone!  None but Emily left.  And thus might poor Lady L——­ be sent home, weeping, perhaps, for such an early marriage-tyranny exerted on her meek sister.