"There's no harm done." "Yes, there is," said Tom, with solemnity; "there _is_ harm done, when _my_ wife goes and does like that.

What would people say of _me,_ if they were to come to know--God forbid they should!--that your husband was talking all the evening to ladies at whose dresses his wife had been working all the afternoon!--You don't know what you are doing, Letty.

What do you suppose the ladies would think if they were to hear of it ?" Poor, foolish Tom, ignorant in his folly, did not know how little those grand ladies would have cared if his wife had been a char-woman: the eyes of such are not discerning of fine social distinctions in women who are not of their set, neither are the family relations of the bohemians they invite of the smallest consequence to them.
"But, Tom," pleaded his wife, "such a grand lady as that! one you go and read your poetry to! What harm can there be in your poor little wife helping to make a dress for a lady like that ?" "I tell you, Letty, I don't choose _my_ wife to do such a thing for the greatest lady in the land! Good Heavens! if it _were_ to come to the ears of the staff! It would be the ruin of me! I should never hold up my head again!" By this time Letty's head was hanging low, like a flower half broken from its stem, and two big tears were slowly rolling down her cheeks.
But there was a gleam of satisfaction in her heart notwithstanding.

Tom thought so much of his little wife that he would not have her work for the greatest lady in the land! She did not see that it was not pride in her, but pride in himself, that made him indignant at the idea.

It was not "my _wife,"_ but "_my_ wife" with Tom.