Ethelyn's Mistake

"Her marriage was a great mistake," she said; "and I must say, Mr.

Markham, that you did very wrong to take her where you did without a

word of preparation. You ought to have told her what she was to expect;

then, if she chose to go, very well. But neither she nor I had any idea

of the reality; and the change must have been terrible to her. For my

part, I can conceive of nothing worse than to be obliged to live with

people whom even sister Barbara called 'Hottentots,' when she came home

from Iowa."

"Not Hottentots," mildly interposed Aunt Barbara. "Philistines was what

I called them, Sophia; and in doing so; I did not mean all of them,

you know."

"Well, Philistines, then, if that's a better word than Hottentots,

which I doubt," Mrs. Van Buren retorted sharply.

Aunt Barbara's evident wish to smooth matters irritated her to say more

than she might otherwise have done, and she went on: "I know you made exceptions, but if my memory serves me right, your

opinion of Ethie's mother-in-law was not very complimentary to that

lady. A man has no business to take his wife to live with his mother

when he knows how different they are."

"But I did not know," Richard said; "that is, I had never thought much

of the things which tried Ethie. Mother was always a good mother to me,

and I did not suppose she was so very different from other women."

"You certainly must be very obtuse, then," Mrs. Van Buren replied: "for,

if all accounts which I hear are true, your mother is not the person to

make a daughter-in-law happy. Neither, it seems, did you do what you

could to please her. You annoyed her terribly with your codger-like

ways, if I may be allowed that term. You made but little effort to

improve, thinking, no doubt, that it was all nonsense and foolishness;

that it was just as well to wear your hat in church, and sit with your

boots on top of the stove, as any other way."

"I never wore my hat in church!" Richard exclaimed, with more warmth

than he had before evinced.

"I don't suppose you did do that particular thing, but you were guilty

of other low-bred habits which grated just as harshly as that. You

thought because you were a judge and an M.C., and had the reputation of

possessing brains, that it did not matter how you demeaned yourself; and

there you were mistaken. The manners of a gentleman would sit ten times

more gracefully upon you because you had brains. No one likes a boor,

and no man of your ability has any business to be a clown. Even if you

were not taught it at home, you could learn from observation, and it was

your duty to do so. Instead of that, you took it for granted you were

right because no one had ever suggested that you were wrong, while your

mother had petted you to death. I have not the honor of her

acquaintance, but I must say I consider her a very remarkable person,

even for a Western woman."