"This white paint! You'll have something to do, my child, keeping it clean. It marks so. I know that. Yes, it's pretty, but this time next year I hope you won't be sorry you had it. But of course, just for the two of you--well, you'll both have to be careful. You'll have to warn Osborn, my dear. Men need reminding so often."

"Osborn is rather different from most men," said Marie. "He is so very thoughtful; he made me some tea early this morning, and did the dining-room grate, and lighted the geyser, and everything."

"That won't last, my dear," replied Mrs. Amber, in a tone of quiet authority, but not lamenting.

"Osborn is not a man who changes, mother," said Marie.

"The chintz is a little light; it will show marks almost as much as the paint, I'm afraid, duck," Mrs. Amber continued. "I don't know if it wouldn't have been better to choose a darker ground. However, you can wash these covers at home. The frills are the only parts which you need to iron. I dare say you know that, dear?"

"Oh, well, I shan't have to think of those things yet, mother. I dare say Osborn would prefer me to send them to the cleaner's, anyway."

"People live more extravagantly now," said Mrs. Amber. "I should have done them at home."

"Things change."

Mrs. Amber thought. "In marriage," she stated presently, "someone has to make sacrifices."

"Why should it be the woman?"

"Because the woman," answered Mrs. Amber quoting someone she had once heard, "is naturally selected for it."

"Mother," said Marie, "don't be tiresome."

Mrs. Amber went away reluctantly at three o'clock. She was a wise woman, and did not want to appear ubiquitous. At four, while Marie was unpacking the trunks they had brought yesterday, Julia came in.

"I begged off an hour earlier," she stated.

She looked quite moved, for Julia; she held Marie at arm's length, stood off and surveyed her. "Well," she asked, "how are you?"

"Very well, and awf'ly happy."

Once more the kettle boiled on the gas-stove; once more toast baked under the grill; and the girls, one eager to tell, the other eager to listen, sat down on the hearthrug in the little dining-room to talk.

"What is marriage really like?" said Julia incredulously. "Haven't you any fault to find? Any fly in your ointment?"

And Marie replied: "Absolutely none."

"It seems wonderful," said Julia thoughtfully.

"It is wonderful," cried Marie fervently; "it is so wonderful that a girl can hardly believe it, Julia. But there it is. Marriage is the only life. I wish you'd believe me. All the old life seems so little and light and trivial and silly--that is, all of it which I can remember, for it seems nearly swept away. Mother came in this morning--if it hadn't been for her I don't think I'd have remembered anything at all of what ever happened to me before I was Osborn's wife. It's beginning all new, you see. It's like starting on the best holiday you ever had in your life, which is going to last for ever.

Try to imagine it."

"Ah," said Julia sourly, "a holiday! Holidays _don't_ last for ever. You always come back to the day's work and the old round."

"You need a holiday yourself," said Marie severely. "You're so bitter.

You want something to sweeten you."

Julia looked at Marie with a yearning softness unexpected in her.

"Well, haven't I come to see _you_? You're the sweetest thing I know. And it's fine to see you so happy. As for your toast, it's scrumptious."

"Eat it quickly. I want to show you round before I begin to cook dinner."

"Fancy you cooking dinner!" said Julia, looking at Marie's little, pampered hands.

Marie had the first faint thrill of the heroine.

"I have to. We can't afford a servant, you know, yet, though, when Osborn gets his rise, perhaps we shall."

"When will that be?"

"Oh, I don't know. This year--next year--"

"Sometime--never," said Julia.

"Osborn is very clever. He is so valuable to his firm; they wouldn't lose him for anything, so they'll have to give him a bigger salary.

Brains like Osborn's don't go cheap."

"That's awf'ly nice," Julia replied. She looked down, and stroked the furs which she had bought for herself, and thought for a while.

"Show me the flat, there's a dear."

Julia professed raptures over all she saw; kissed Marie, and was gone.

Once more the bride, but alone this time, turned earnestly to work.

The work seemed long and arduous and hot and nerve-racking, in spite of the amenities of the gas stove. She was so anxious to have all perfect. Once more the table was decked, the rose shades were placed over the candles, the sitting-room fire was lighted, the coffee apparatus was made ready.

Marie rushed into The Frock, determined to keep up the standard they had set themselves, just two minutes before Osborn arrived home.

He kneeled to kiss her; they embraced rapturously.

"You've had a nice day?" he was anxious to know.

"Lovely. Mother came, and Julia, and I unpacked, and went to market, and did everything by myself--"

"I'm glad you had plenty to amuse you, dear one."

"'Amuse'?" said Marie a trifle blankly. "I've been working ever so hard all day, really, Osborn."

"Work?" he teased, smiling. "You 'working'!" He kissed one little hand after the other. "They couldn't," he mumbled over them. He seemed to take woman's great tasks lightly, as if he did not realise how serious, how enervating they were.

"They're too pretty," he said.

He began to talk, while he carved the chicken.

"It seemed a bit beastly to go back to work to-day after our good time. However, I've all the more reason for going back to work now, haven't I, Mrs. Kerr? You'll keep me up to the scratch, won't you?

Look! I'm carving this bird like an old family man already. They were all asking me, down there, how I liked my honeymoon, and where we went and what we saw. A lot of them began talking of the time they'd had.

They all said it never lasts. People are fools, aren't they?"