How Ralph Murray ever happened to fancy Edda Martin, was a mystery to all those of his and her friends, who had observed but little of this marriage business of life. As a general rule, both men and women, especially when young, select the very companions that are the most unlike their ideals, and what is still stranger, the most unsuitable for them.
Ralph Murray was a reserved, dignified young man, rather stern for his years, with the most rigid ideas of justice and propriety, even in trifles; exact in every thing, and making but little allowance for others less exact than himself. He did not require more than he was willing to give in return, but he had no consideration, no patience, and when disappointed, was apt to become cold, moody, and uncompromising. In woman he had always required, “that monster perfection.” His mother had been a model of feminine propriety. He had no sisters, but a whole troop of cousins, who happened to be laughing, hoydenish, good-natured creatures; but they were his utter abomination, he never countenanced them, pronouncing them silly, frivolous, and senseless; but how they laughed and teased him, when his engagement with Edda Martin was announced—verily they had their revenge.
Edda was, indeed, a spoiled pet, full of caprice and whim, beautiful and graceful as a fairy, and as untamed and uncontrollable as an unwedded Undine. But, poor child, marriage brought no happy spirit to dwell in her household. How could it? For they had married under the influence of the maddest, wildest infatuation. Their love was beautiful while it lasted; but soon the husband grew exacting, the angel became a mere woman, and the darling, who had never obeyed any will but her own, discovered she had a lord and master, whose will was stronger and more unbending than even her own had ever been. Then Edda was extravagant and thriftless, and thoughtless, a real child-wife, like poor Dora, that English Undine creation of Dickens’s fancy, but with more spirit and temper than “Little Blossom.” Edda’s character had in it qualities which would have made her a fine woman, properly and gradually developed; but her husband placed her on the scale of his own model of perfection, and endeavored to drag her up to this idea of wifehood, without waiting for Nature to assist him. It was the old, sad story told over again—incompatibility of tempers, unreasonableness on his part, petulance, waywardness and temper on hers.