1.  Well, Mr. Caudle, I hope you’re in a little better temper than you were this morning.  There, you need n’t begin to whistle:  people don’t come to bed to whistle.  But it’s like you; I can’t speak that you don’t try to insult me.  Once, I used to say you were the best creature living:  now, you get quite a fiend.  Do let you rest?  No, I won’t let you rest.  It’s the only time I have to talk to you, and you shall hear me.  I’m put upon all day long:  it’s very hard if I can’t speak a word at night; besides, it is n’t often I open my mouth, goodness knows!

2.  Because once in your lifetime your shirt wanted a button, you must almost swear the roof off the house.  You did n’t swear?  Ha, Mr. Caudle! you don’t know what you do when you’re in a passion.  You were not in a passion, wer’n’t you?  Well, then, I don’t know what a passion is; and I think I ought by this time.  I’ve lived long enough with you, Mr. Caudle, to know that.

3.  It’s a pity you hav’n’t something worse to complain of than a button off your shirt.  If you’d some wives, you would, I know.  I’m sure I’m never without a needle and thread in my hand; what with you and the children, I’m made a perfect slave of.  And what’s my thanks?  Why, if once in your life a button’s off your shirt—­what do you cry “oh” at?  I say once, Mr. Caudle; or twice, or three times, at most.  I’m sure, Caudle, no man’s buttons in the world are better looked after than yours.  I only wish I’d kept the shirts you had when you were first married!  I should like to know where were your buttons then?

4.  Yes, it is worth talking of!  But that’s how you always try to put me down.  You fly into a rage, and then if I only try to speak, you won’t hear me.  That’s how you men always will have all the talk to yourselves:  a poor woman is n’t allowed to get a word in.  A nice notion you have of a wife, to suppose she’s nothing to think of but her husband’s buttons.  A pretty notion, indeed, you have of marriage.  Ha! if poor women only knew what they had to go through!—­what with buttons, and one thing and another,—­they’d never tie themselves up,—­no, not to the best man in the world, I’m sure.  What would they do, Mr. Caudle?—­Why, do much better without you, I’m certain.

5.  And it’s my belief, after all, that the button was n’t off the shirt; it’s my belief that you pulled it off that you might have something to talk about.  Oh, you’re aggravating enough, when you like, for anything!  All I know is, it’s very odd that the button should be off the shirt; for I’m sure no woman’s a greater slave to her husband’s buttons than I am.  I only say it’s very odd.

6.  However, there’s one comfort; it can’t last long.  I’m worn to death with your temper, and sha’n’t trouble you a great while.  Ha! you may laugh!  And I dare say you would laugh!  I’ve no doubt of it!  That’s your love; that’s your feeling!  I know that I’m sinking every day, though I say nothing about it.  And when I’m gone we shall see how your second wife will look after your buttons!  You’ll find out the difference then.  Yes, Caudle, you’ll think of me then; for then, I hope, you’ll never have a blessed button to your back.