If he had but a little more brains$$$ she thought to herself$$$ I might make something of him; but she never let him perceive the opinion she had of him; listened with indefatigable complacency to his stories of the stable and the mess; laughed at all his jokes...When he came home$$$ she was alert and happy; when he went out she pressed him to go; when he stayed at home$$$ she played and sang for him$$$ made him good drinks$$$ superintended his dinner$$$ warmed his slippers$$$ and steeped his soul in comfort. The best of women {I have heard my grandmother say) are hypocrites. We don't know how much they hide from us: how watchful they are when they seem most artless and confidential: how often those frank smile which they wear so easily are traps to cajole or elude or disarm--I don't mean in your mere coquettes$$$ but your domestic models and paragons of female virute.
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