"Yes, I will be free," she said in her heart. "I will be his equal,
not his slave."
"It may cost you some pain in the beginning," resumed the tempter.
"I am not afraid of pain," said Irene.
"A brave heart spoke there. I wish we had more on our side with the
stuff you are made of. There would be hope of a speedier reform than
is now promised."
"Heaven send the reform right early! It cannot come a day too soon."
Irene spoke with rising ardor.
"It will be our own fault," said Mrs. Talbot, "if we longer bow our
necks to the yoke or move obedient to our task-masters. Let us lay
the axe to the very root of this evil and hew it down."
"Even if we are crushed by the tree in falling," responded Irene, in
the spirit of a martyr.
From this interview our wrong-directed young friend went home with
more clearly defined purposes touching her conduct toward her
husband than she had hitherto entertained. She saw him in a new
aspect, and in a character more definitely outlined. He loomed up in
more colossal proportions, and put on sterner features. All
disguises were thrown away, and he stood forth, not a loving
husband, but the tyrant of her home. Weak, jealous, passion-tost
child! how this strong, self-willed, false woman of the world had
bewildered her thoughts, and pushed her forth into an arena of
strife, where she could only beat about blindly, and hurt herself
and others, yet accomplish no good.
From her interview with Mrs. Talbot, Irene went home, bearing more
distinct ideas of resistance in her mind. In this great crisis of
her life she felt that she needed just such a friend, who could give
direction to her striving spirit, and clothe for her in thoughts the
native impulses that she knew only as a love of freedom. She
believed now that she understood herself better than before, and
comprehended more clearly her duties and responsibilities.
It was in this mood of mind that she met her husband when he
returned in the afternoon from his office. Happily for them, he was
in a quiet, non-resistant state, and in a special good-humor with
himself and the world. Professional matters had shaped themselves to
his wishes, and left his mind at peace. Irene had, in consequence,
everything pretty much her own way. Hartley did not fail to notice a
certain sharpness of manner about her, and a certain spiciness of
sentiment when the subject of their intermittent talks verged on
themes relating to women; but he felt no inclination whatever for
argument or opposition, and so her arrows struck a polished shield,
and went gracefully and harmlessly aside.
"Shall we go and have a merry laugh with Matthews to-night?" said
Hartley, as they sat at the tea-table. "I feel just in the humor."