Volume II. The Wife CHAPTER 4.
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Conscious that he had wronged Anna in thought as well as in feeling — Hartley's words, tones and actions expressed towards her the tenderness that this consciousness awoke in his bosom. By every little art in his power, he strove to obliterate from her mind a recollection of what had passed.
As for Anna, she was grieved to find that her well-meant, indeed, her conscientious efforts, had been misunderstood. It would have been the easiest thing in the world for her to remain passive, and let her husband make all arrangements as his taste might dictate. But would this be right? That question she could not answer in the affirmative.
"He will think me self-willed," she said. "Twice, already, have I opposed his wishes, and how can he help feeling that I do this from an innate love of having things only my own way? Oh, if he but knew my heart! If he could see how gladly I would yield up everything to him, if it would be right for me to do so!"
While Anna thought thus, her husband was experiencing the good results of her firmness. He was closely examining his own ends of action; and asking himself many questions, the answers to which enabled him to see the true nature of the ground upon which he was standing. In his heart, he rendered his young wife full justice.
When next they recurred to the subject that had awakened a discordant string, it was seen in its true light by Hartley. He was the first to bring up the question about which there had been a difference of opinion — felt much more strongly than expressed. This was on the following day.
"I have been thinking a great deal about what took place, yesterday," he began by saying in a serious voice.
Anna's heart gave a sudden bound. She looked earnestly at her husband. He could see that her lip slightly quivered.
"You are right, and I am wrong," he continued. "All that concerns us should have our mutual consideration. As my wife, you ought to know exactly how I stand with the world, and I should not, through false pride, have any wish to conceal this from you. I have had many serious thoughts since yesterday, and today I feel that I am a wiser man. Will you forgive my ungenerous — "
"James! — dear James! I cannot hear you speak in this way," interposed Anna. "It is wrong for you to do so. Let what is past be forgotten. In the present let us live to good purpose; to the future let us look with hope."
"Very well. Let the past go with all its lights and shadows. Today — that is, now — in the present time — we must act. What is our first duty?"
Anna made no reply.
"We have rented a house, and must furnish it."
Anna still remained silent.
"How shall it be done? I proposed one way. But it did not seem to you to be the right way, and like a true wife you said so; and gave a capital reason. It was likely to involve a waste of money. You suggested, on the threshold of our married life, that we ought to understand each other folly. I have thought about that ever since. At first I could not bear to think of talking to you about the ordinary concerns of life — it seemed descending from a world of romance — to a world of vulgar realities. Your intimation that you ought to know something about my financial affairs, I confess did jar upon my feelings — and I could not help showing it. But, Anna, you were right. How could you, as you truly said, govern yourself in your desires, or regulate your expenditures — if you did not know how far I was able to meet them? It is right, then, that you should know, precisely, how I stand with the world, and in telling you the exact truth, I cannot but suffer a little from wounded pride; especially when the large house in Walnut Street comes up in my imagination. It is not to be concealed, that I am not in a situation to rent such a house, and incur the heavy expenses that it would involve. I thought that I was — or rather imagined, that I was bound to make my wife the mistress of a very handsome house, with costly furniture, and all that appertained to an elegant establishment. But my wife had the good sense to undeceive me in this, and I thank her most sincerely for it!
"To come down to the main point, then, without further preliminaries, I am, as you know, a partner in the firm of R. S. & Co., one of the most flourishing businesses in the city. But, I am a junior partner, and entitled only to a certain dividend on the profits. This dividend, I have every reason to believe, will be four or five thousand dollars a year. It may be less. I ought not to conceal from myself the fact, that a series of heavy losses would reduce my income much below the sum named — still, I do not really apprehend anything of the kind. To all human appearance, our customers are some of the safest in the country. But it is the part of wisdom to exercise a prudent forethought."
Anna listened with deep attention. She did not reply, although her husband paused some moments to give her an opportunity for doing so.
"There is every prospect, however," Hartley resumed, "of my acquiring wealth rapidly. Our firm has doubled its business in the last year, and if we go on increasing in the ratio that we have done for some time past, there will not be a richer firm in the city. My proportion of profit is to be increased to a fifth, at the expiration of five years from the time I was taken into the concern. That fifth ought to be ten or fifteen thousand dollars."
Hartley again paused; but Anna still continued silent.
"I have now told you all, freely," he said.
"For which I thank you!" Anna replied in a serious voice. "I can now move forward without a feeling of insecurity. I shall know the ground upon which I tread."
"You will not, I hope, feel that there is any necessity for a very close economy."
"All that either you or I need to make our condition as pleasant as would be desired, you are, I doubt not, fully able to afford. If there is no necessity for a very close economy, there is as little for a very free expenditure. Under all the circumstances, will it not be wise for us to set some limit to our wants?"
"In what way?"
"Determine how much, situated as we are, it would cost us in the year to live."
"I fully agree with you. Suppose, then, we say two thousand dollars."
Anna smiled.
"Too much or too little?" asked Hartley. "Too much, by at least five or six hundred dollars."
Hartley shook his head.
"We cannot live in a style that my business connections require that I should live in — on fourteen or even fifteen hundred dollars a year."
"I am not so sure of that. Fourteen or fifteen hundred dollars, if prudently expended, will go a great way. My father, I know, supported his family and sent three of us to school for a number of years on fifteen hundred dollars. And we lived as respectably then as we do now. We have rented a very good house. Let us furnish it well. After that is done, we shall find the lowest amount I have named quite sufficient for us. If not, it can be easily increased."
"Very true. I believe you see this whole matter in the best light. The furnishing of our house, as you have intimated, is now our first business. How and where shall we begin? As far as I am concerned, I know nothing at all about it."
"It is but little that I know," replied Anna, "but there is one on whose experience I can safely rely — my mother. If you think it best, I will consult her."
"That will be the wisest course. A moment's reflection would have taught me this at first."
"My father has usually left all things relating to the internal economy of the family to her judgment."
"As I should leave all such things to yours," said Hartley, with a smile.
"No, no. Don't misunderstand me!" quickly replied Anna. "My mother, as far as I can recollect, never bought anything of importance without referring to my father. Her familiarity with domestic affairs enabled her to judge correctly in regard to what was needed; but his taste was consulted, and what he approved I have noticed that my mother almost always selected. This set of chairs was bought about a year ago. I remember hearing mother say to father one day,
"If we can afford it, I think we should get a new set of chairs."
We were sitting in the parlor, here, when she said this. Father looked around and examined the chairs attentively for a little while.
"They do look rather worn," he answered, "I did not notice it before. Our new carpets really shame them. By all means we must have another set."
"The kind to be selected was then talked about. Mother proposed a plainer and cheaper style of chairs, but father thought they could afford a set like these, and mother acquiesced. On the next day they went together to a chair-maker's. I accompanied them. Four or five different patterns were shown; but mother made no choice, until she heard father express himself very much pleased with these. Without the slightest appearance of being governed by his taste, I saw that she inclined, gradually, to a choice of those my father had liked, and when she finally said which she liked best, it was done so delicately, that I am sure father did not suspect that his taste had guided hers. And yet it was so — or so appeared to me. I have witnessed the same deference to his taste frequently since. Now, just as my father leaves domestic affairs to my mother's judgment — do I wish that you would leave them to mine; and just as my mother consults my father's taste — do I wish to consult yours. Shall it not be so?"
"It shall!" was Hartley's instant reply, kissing, with warmth and tenderness, the sweet lips of his young wife, as he spoke.
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