The only interest I felt in this conceited young man was as the husband of my young friend; and as touching their relation to each other, I observed both of them very closely. It did not take me long to discover that there was no true bond of love between them. The little fond attentions that we look for in a husband of only six months' standing; and the tender reciprocations which are sure to follow, were all wanting here. Constance spoke of this, and I answered, lightly, to cover the regret the fact occasioned--
“It is not fashionable in good society, you know, for husband and wife to show any interest in each other.”
She laid her hand suddenly upon my arm, and looked lovingly into my face.
“May we never make a part of good society, then!”
“There is no present prospect of it, my Constance. I am not ambitious of social distinction. Still, our trial in this direction may come, for you know that I am not without ambition professionally. A chair in one of the medical schools might tempt me to an Atlantic city.”
Constance smiled, as she still rested her hand upon my arm. Then looking from my face to our little ones, two of whom were playing on the floor, while the third slept like a vision of innocence in the cradle, she said:--
“I shall not need the glitter of diamonds--these are my jewels.”
Turn your eyes away, good society reader, lest they be offended at sight of a husband's kiss. Could I do less than breathe my tender love upon her lips again?
“And richer jewels were never worn in the diadem of a queen,” said I. “As a mother, woman attains her highest glory.”
“As wife and mother,” Constance answered quickly. And now she leaned against me, and I drew my arm tenderly around her.
“And all this,” she said, “a good society woman must give up; and for what? God help them in the time of life's bitter trials and painful experience, which all must endure in some degree!” She spoke with strong feeling. “On what arm can a woman lean, who has no husband in the true sense? Is she strong enough, standing alone, for life's great battles? What has she to sustain her, when all the external support, received from pride, is swept away? Alas! Alas! Is there a blinder folly than the pageantry of fashionable society? It is the stage on a grander scale, glittering, gorgeous, fascinating to the senses--but all a mere show, back from which the actors retire, each with an individual consciousness, and the sad words pressing to tremulous lips--'The heart knoweth its own bitterness.'”