Craddock had all the qualities and attributes requisite to make him a
son-in-law to the liking of his mother-in-law--lack of money.
So she went to live in Boston, maintained a chilly correspondence with her
daughter, and bided her time.
Craddock had had his old loves, a fact that he did not attempt to conceal
from his wife. She insisted upon his telling her about them, although the
narration put her into manifest vexation of mind. Such is the way of young
wives.
There was one love about which Craddock said less than about any of the
others, because it had encroached more upon his life than any of them. It
had nearly approached being a serious affair. He had a delicacy concerning
the mention of it, too, for he flattered himself that the flame, although
entirely extinguished upon his own side, yet smouldered deep in the heart
of the woman. Therefore, he spoke of that episode in vague and general
terms.
Strange as it seemed to Craddock, clear as it is to any student of men and
women, it was this amour that excited the most curiosity in the mind of his
wife.
"What was her name?" asked the latter.
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