...of tact

But, Grandmama, my pen has run away from me. I have written on anything rather than the subject I intended to, which is certain inconsistencies in the Duke's conduct that times puzzle me most painfully. Since our marriage it has been my constant study, the business of my life, to watch the unfolding of his strange character, to read his heart (if I could), to become acquainted with all his antipathies that I might avoid them, and all his inclinations that I might continually follow them. Sometimes my efforts have been successful, sometimes unsuccessful, but upon the whole my attention or tact - as the Duke of Wellington calls it - has rather raised than lowered me in his good opinion. You know I am practised in this kind of silent vigilance. I used to exercise it towards my dear father. Ever since I can remember I have watched the proper moments when to speak and when to be silent. I have studied his likes and dislikes, and rigidly striven to gratify the former and avoid the latter. It was natural for me then, when I became the wife of one whom I loved so inexpressibly as Zamorna, to exert every effort to please him. Yet in spite of all, sometimes he is unaccountably cool - not unkind, I cannot say that - but it is the kindness of a friend rather than a husband. And then he changes so suddenly. And there are other little mysterious incidents connected with these changes which nobody saw but me and which I reveal to none. An example or two will best explain my meaning.

[The Spell, Bronte, C.]