In the early days of Mrs. Wilson’s business life, she had made it a rule to consult her husband on every subject of importance; but it had speedily proved to be a formality.  Tom tried manfully to show a deep interest which he did not feel, and his wife gave up, little by little, telling him much about her affairs.  She said that she liked to drop business when she came home in the evening; and at last she fell into the habit of taking a nap on the library sofa, while Tom, who could not use his eyes much by lamp-light, sat smoking or in utter idleness before the fire.  When they were first married his wife had made it a rule that she should always read him the evening papers, and afterward they had always gone on with some book of history or philosophy, in which they were both interested.  These evenings of their early married life had been charming to both of them, and from time to time one would say to the other that they ought to take up again the habit of reading together.  Mary was so unaffectedly tired in the evening that Tom never liked to propose a walk; for, though he was not a man of peculiarly social nature, he had always been accustomed to pay an occasional evening visit to his neighbors in the village.  And though he had little interest in the business world, and still less knowledge of it, after a while he wished that his wife would have more to say about what she was planning and doing, or how things were getting on.  He thought that her chief aid, old Mr. Jackson, was far more in her thoughts than he.  She was forever quoting Jackson’s opinions.  He did not like to find that she took it for granted that he was not interested in the welfare of his own property; it made him feel like a sort of pensioner and dependent, though, when they had guests at the house, which was by no means seldom, there was nothing in her manner that would imply that she thought herself in any way the head of the family.  It was hard work to find fault with his wife in any way, though, to give him his due, he rarely tried.

* * * * *

But, this being a wholly unnatural state of things, the reader must expect to hear of its change at last, and the first blow from the enemy was dealt by an old woman, who lived near by, and who called to Tom one morning, as he was driving down to the village in a great hurry (to post a letter, which ordered his agent to secure a long-wished-for ancient copper coin, at any price), to ask him if they had made yeast that week, and if she could borrow a cupful, as her own had met with some misfortune.  Tom was instantly in a rage, and he mentally condemned her to some undeserved fate, but told her aloud to go and see the cook.  This slight delay, besides being killing to his dignity, caused him to lose the mail, and in the end his much-desired copper coin.  It was a hard day for him, altogether; it was Wednesday, and the first days of the week having been stormy the washing was very late.  And Mary