instead of crushing her, as it would a woman of weaker nature, had turned her into a cold, hard, bitter, ill-natured woman, whom it, seemed, now, nobody could like or live with; yet those who knew both her and her husband when they were young said that Martha Balloure, at the time of her marriage, had been an impulsive, loving, lovable girl. Be that as it may, she was now an unlovely, cynical, sharp-tongued, heartless woman, without a friend in the community, and the verdict of the world was always, "Poor Professor Balloure! What a sad fate it was that tied him to such a woman!" Mrs. Balloure herself perpetually fed this expression by her unconcealed contempt for and dislike of her husband. She had a sad lack of dignity of character, and could never forego an opportunity of a fling at the man whose name she bore. When people praised him to her,—said, for instance, "How well Professor Balloure talks!" Mrs. Balloure would reply, with a sneer, "Yes, outside his own house." Professor Balloure, on the contrary, never spoke of his wife but with the utmost respect; always treated her with the utmost courtesy, in the presence of others. Some close observers noticed that his eye never rested on her face—never met hers if it could be avoided; and when Mrs. Balloure replied bitterly, as she had been more than once heard to, on his offering her some small attentions, "Oh, pray don't trouble yourself; you know you would n't do it if there were no one
