Of course this query could have no reference to my situation; yet, unreasonable as it may appear, I confess that my feelings were not altogether so ecstatic as when I first called Mrs. Bullfrog mine. True, she was a sweet woman and an angel of a wife; but what if a gorgon should return amid the transports of our connubial bliss and take the angels place!
I recollected the tale of a fairy who half the time was a beautiful woman and half the time a hideous monster. Had I taken that very fairy to be the wife of my bosom? While such whims and chimeras were flitting across my fancy I began to look askance at Mrs. Bullfrog, almost expecting that the transformation would be wrought before my eyes.
Bottle of Kalydor
To divert my mind I took up the newspaper which had covered the little basket of refreshments, and which now lay at the bottom of the coach blushing with a deep-red stain and emitting a potent spirituous fume from the contents of the broken bottle of Kalydor. The paper was two or three years old, but contained an article of several columns in which I soon grew wonderfully interested.
It was the report of a trial for breach of promise of marriage, giving the testimony in full, with fervid extracts from both the gentlemans and ladys amatory correspondence. The deserted damsel had personally appeared in court, and had borne energetic evidence to her lovers perfidy and the strength of her blighted affections. On the defendants part, there had been an attempt, though insufficiently sustained, to blast the plaintiffs character, and a plea, in mitigation of damages, on account of her unamiable temper. A horrible idea was suggested by the ladys name.
“Madam,” said I, holding the newspaper before Mrs. Bullfrogs eyes —and, though a small, delicate and thin-visage man, I feel assured that I looked very terrific—“Madam,” repeated I, through my shut teeth, “were you the plaintiff in this cause?”
“Oh, my dear Mr. Bullfrog!” replied my wife, sweetly; “I thought all the world knew that.”
“Horror! horror!” exclaimed I, sinking back on the seat.
Covering my face with both hands, I emitted a deep and deathlike groan, as if my tormented soul were rending me asunder. I, the most exquisitely fastidious of men, and whose wife was to have been the most delicate and refined of women, with all the fresh dewdrops glittering on her virgin rosebud of a heart! I thought of the glossy ringlets and pearly teeth, I thought of the Kalydor, I thought of the coachmans bruised ear and bloody nose, I thought of the tender love-secrets which she had whispered to the judge and jury, and a thousand tittering auditors, and gave another groan.
“Mr. Bullfrog!” said my wife.
As I made no reply, she gently took my hands within her own, removed them from my face and fixed her eyes steadfastly on mine.
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