FullReads

“I am rather surprised at your choice, my dear–the rooms at the cottage are so small, and those in the other house so large and airy–do as you please, but I must say I am surprised. Such nice airy rooms.”

“But they are gloomy and dilapidated, and will require so much expense to make them comfortable. Still, if you prefer them–“

“Oh, that is nothing, you are to choose, you know, but I dislike small, confined rooms, and the cottage is nothing but a bird’s-nest.”

“Do you not remember how we used to admire it when Mrs. Murray lived there?”

“Oh, certainly, certainly, take it if you like; but the rooms are so small, and I never can breathe in a small room. Those in the large house are just the right size, and not at all gloomy in my eyes; but of course do as you please. I rather wonder at your choice, however.”

“Well, then, what do you say to the new house on the hill? That is neither too large nor too small, and it is such a convenient distance from your office; besides the grounds are delightful. I could be very happy there.”

“Really, Mrs. Bennet, you have a singular taste. The neighbourhood is, I dare say, detestable, and the dampness of the walls, the smell of new paint, and a hundred other things, would be hard to bear. Notwithstanding, if you choose the new house, we will take it; but the rooms in the other tenement are so large and airy, and I do so like large rooms–well, what do you say?”

With a suppressed sigh, the young wife answered–“I think, on the whole, we had better take the large house.”

“I was sure you would come over to my opinion!” was the husband’s exulting exclamation; “see what it is to have a sensible wife, and an accommodating husband.”

The large house was taken, and various were the discomforts experienced by Mrs. Bennet in her new abode. The chimneys smoked, the rain came in through numerous crevices in the roof, and the wide halls, and lofty apartments, many of which were unfurnished, struck a chill to the heart of the lonely wife, who, if she visited them after sunset, trembled at the sound of her own footfalls echoing through the house. But she made few complaints, and Mr. Bennet, even if aware of some trifling annoyances, was happy in the consciousness that he had magnanimously submitted to his wife the choice of a habitation. Fortunately for him, that wife was a woman of sense, firmness, and principle, who studied her husband’s peculiarities that she might as far as possible adapt herself to them; though, it must be confessed, the attempt was often fruitless, and she was compelled to acknowledge to her own heart, that the open assumption of authority is not the only way in which domestic despotism manifests itself.

When Mr. Bennet became a father, in the first gush of parental emotion he forgot even the exercise of the veto, in reference to the arrangements for the comfort of the little stranger, so that for a few weeks the happy mother carried out her own plans without any interference.

“Have you decided on a name for this dear little girl?” said Mrs. Bennet, as they sat together, one morning, caressing the object of so many hopes, and of so much affection.

“I wish you to name her, my dear,” he replied; “it is your privilege to do so.”

“I should like to call her Mary, if you have no objection–it is the name of my mother, therefore very dear to me.”

“Is it possible you can like that common name so well? For my part I am tired of the very sight and sound of it. It can be nicknamed, too, and Molly, you must confess, is not very euphonious. I hoped you might choose the name of Ruth: it is a scriptural name, simple and sweet.”

“It happens, unfortunately, to be one I particularly dislike, but as you do not like Mary, perhaps we can select one in which we shall both agree. What do you say to Martha? It is our sister’s name, and a scriptural one also,” she added, with a smile.