For three days I tried this experiment upon my husband, who bore it with the unflinching heroism of a martyr.  I was forced, at last, to come to; but I was by no means satisfied that my new mode was a failure.  For all Mr. Smith’s assumed indifference, I knew that he had been troubled at heart, and I was pretty well satisfied that he would think twice before provoking me to another essay of tears.  Upon the whole, I felt pretty sure that I had discovered the means of doing with him as I pleased.

A few weeks of sunshine passed—­I must own that the sun did not look so bright, nor feel so warm as it had done in former times—­and then our wills came once more into collision.  But my tears fell upon a rock.  I could not see that they made the least perceptible impression.  Mr. Smith had his own way, and I cried about it until I got tired of that sport, and in very weariness gave over.  For the space of a whole year I stood upon tears as my last defensible position.  Sometimes I didn’t smile for weeks.  But my husband maintained his ground like a hero.

At last I gave up in despair.  Pride, self-will, anger—­all were conquered.  I was a weak woman in the hands of a strong-minded man.  If I could not love him as I wished to love him, I could at least obey.  In nothing did I now oppose him, either by resolute words or tears.  If he expressed a wish, whether to me agreeable or not, I acquiesced.

One day, not long after this change in my conduct towards my husband, he said to me, “I rather think, Mary, we will spend a couple of weeks at Brandywine Springs, instead of going to Cape May this season.”

I replied, “Very well, dear;” although I had set my heart on going to the Capes.  My sister and her husband and a number of my friends were going down, and I had anticipated a good deal of pleasure.  I did not know of a single person who was going to the Brandywine Springs.  But what was the use of entering into a contest with my husband?  He would come off the conqueror, spite of angry words or ineffectual tears.

“The Springs are so much more quiet than the Capes,” said my husband.

“Yes,” I remarked, “there is less gay company there.”

“Don’t you think you will enjoy yourself as well there as at the Capes?”

Now this was a good deal for my husband to say.  I hardly knew what to make of it.

“If you prefer going there, dear, let us go by all means,” I answered.  I was not affecting any thing, but was in earnest in what I said.

Mr. Smith looked into my face for some moments, and with unusual affection I thought.

“Mary,” said he, “if you think the time will pass more pleasantly to you at the Capes, let us go there by all means.”

“My sister Jane is going to the Capes,” I remarked, with some little hesitation; “and so is Mrs. L—­and Mrs. D—­, and a good many more of our friends.  I did think that I would enjoy myself there this season very much.  But I have no doubt I shall find pleasant society at the Springs.”