emotion.

Curiously, she "got on" his nerves before he on hers. It was
through her habit of rising late and taking hours to dress. Part
of his code of conduct--an interpolation of his own into the
Arkwright manual for a honeymooning gentleman--was that he ought
to wait until she was ready to breakfast, before breakfasting
himself. Several mornings she heard tempestuous sounds round the
camp for two hours before she emerged from her room. She knew
these sounds came from him, though all was quiet as soon as she
appeared; and she very soon thought out the reason for his uproar.
Next, his anger could not subdue itself beyond surliness on her
appearing, and the surliness lasted through the first part of
breakfast. Finally, one morning she heard him calling her when she
was about half-way through her leisurely toilette: "Margaret!
MARGARET!"

"Yes--what is it?"

"Do come out. You're missing the best part of the day."

"All right--in a minute."

She continued with, if anything, a slackening of her exertions;
she appeared about an hour after she had said "in a minute." He
was ready to speak, and speak sharply. But one glance at her, at
the exquisite toilette--of the woods, yet of the civilization
that dwells in palaces and reposes languidly upon the exertions of
menials--at her cooling, subduing eyes, so graciously haughty--and
he shut his lips together and subsided.