tship led her to imagine. It costs him but a second's thought and
slight muscular exertion to lift his hat in kissing her on leaving
home in the morning, and in returning at evening. It ought not to be
an effort for him to rise to his feet when she enters the room, and to
comport himself at her table and in her drawing-room as he would at
the board and in the parlor of his neighbor's wife. Each of these
slight civilities elevates her in her own and in others' eyes, and
tends to give her her rightful place as queen of the home and of his
heart. She may be maid-of-all-work in a modest establishment, worn and
depressed by over-much drudgery, but in her husband's eyes she is the
equal of any lady in the land. Her stove-burned face and print gown do
not delude him as to her real position. Furthermore--and this hint is
directed sidewise at our "model"--a sense of the incongruity between
the fine courtesy of her husband's manner, and of slovenly attire upon
the object of his attentions--would incite her to neatness and
becomingness in dress. It is worth while to look well in the eyes of
one who never for a moment forgets that he is a gentleman, and his
wife a lady.

When John finds himself excusing this and that lapse from perfect
breeding in his home life with the plea--"It is only my wife!" he
needs to look narrowly at his grain and his seasoning. He is in danger
of "checking."

Being a man--or I would better say--not being a woman--John is
probably made up without domestic tact, and his wife must be on her
guard to cover the deficiency. For example, if by some mortifying
combination of mischances, a dish is scantily supplied, he helps it
out lavishly, scrapes the bottom officiously, and with innocent
barbarity calls your attention to the fact that it needs replenishing.

"I tried once to hold my husband back from the brink of social
disaster," said one wife. "We sat opposite to one another at a dinner
party where the conversation neared a topic that would be, I knew,
extremely painful and embarrassing to our hostess. My John led the
talk--all unaware of the peril--and when the next sentence would, I
felt, be fatal, I pressed his foot under the table. What do you think
that blessed innocent did? Winced visibly and sharply--stopped short
in the middle of a word, and stared at me with pendulous jaw,
and--while everybody looked at him for the next breath--said,
resonantly--'_Jane! did you touch my foot?_'"

The incident is