Again she was tempted to revolt against such imbecile tyranny; and again, as she debated the situation, the wisdom, the necessity of submitting became apparent.

How would it sound to have to explain to her grandmother that she had left him because he took an inconvenient train?
"I'd like to see him try this sort of thing if we'd been married six months instead of six weeks," she muttered.
She refused to talk with him, answered him in cold monosyllables.

And after dinner, when he produced the volume of Emerson and began to read aloud, she curtly asked him to be quiet.

"I wish to sleep!" snapped she.
"Do, dear," urged he.

And he put his arm around her.
"That's very uncomfortable," said she, trying to draw away.
He drew her back, held her--and she knew she must either submit or make a scene.