Some were good; some bad.
Some seemed to trust their wives; others to be rather frightened than otherwise at them.

I studied intently all the different varieties of husbands.

I heard my father laugh often, and say: "Bless the child, how intently she looks and listens." He little knew that I was trying to find out for myself, and by my mother's wit, which were good husbands and which were bad.

I did not like to address any questions to my parents on the subject, lest they should wonder why the subject interested me.
Once, when I was with my mother--we were walking up and down the picture gallery--I did venture to ask her: "Mamma, what makes husbands bad?
Why do they make their wives cry ?" How my beautiful mother looked at me.

There were laughter, fun and pain in her eyes altogether.
"What makes my darling ask such a question ?" she replied.