“Marked, my dear—­for each end of the table when we give our beefsteak dinners.  Almond dishes.”

“Don’t!”

“Forty-two individual, solid or filigree almond dishes; forty-two, Clara.”

“Marked.”

“Right again, dear.  One dozen bonbon dishes, five nouveau riche sugar shakers (we never use them), three muffineers—­in heaven’s name, what’s that?  Solid silver bread dishes, solid silver candlesticks by the dozen, solid silver vegetable dishes, and we expect one servant and an intermittent laundress to do the cooking, washing, make the beds and clean the house besides.”

“All marked,” said Clara dolefully.

“Every one, my dear.  Then the china and the plates, we can’t even eat out of the plates we want or drink from the glasses we wish; everything in this house, from top to bottom has been picked out and inflicted upon us against our wants and in defiance of our own taste and we—­we have got to go on living with them and trying not to quarrel!”

“You have forgotten the worst of all,” said Clara.

“No, my darling, I have not forgotten it.  I have thought of nothing else, but I wanted you to mention it.”

“The flat silver, George.”

“The flat silver, my darling.  Twelve dozen, solid silver and teaset to match, bought without consulting us, by your two rich bachelor uncles in collusion.  We wanted Queen Anne or Louis Seize, simple, dignified, something to live with and grow fond of, and what did we get?”

“Oh, dear, they might have asked me!”

“But they don’t, they never do, that is the theory of wedding presents, my dear.  We got Pond Lily pattern, repousse until it scratches your fingers.  Pond Lily pattern, my dear, which I loathe, detest, and abominate!”

“I too, George.”

“And that, my dear, we shall never get rid of; we not only must adopt and assume the responsibility, but must pass it down to our children and our children’s children.”

“Oh, George, it is terrible—­terrible!  What are we going to do?”

“My darling Clara, we are going to put a piece of bric-a-brac a day on the newel post, buy a litter of puppies to chew up the rugs, select a butter-fingered, china-breaking waitress, pay storage on the silver and try occasionally to set fire to the furniture.”

“But the flat silver, George, what of that?”

“Oh, the flat silver,” I said gloomily, “each one has his cross to bear, that shall be ours.”

III

We were, as has been suggested, a relatively rich couple.  That’s a pun!  At the end of five years a relative on either side left us a graceful reminder.  The problem of living became merely one of degree.  At the end of this period we had made considerable progress in the building up of a home which should be in fact and desire entirely ours.  That is, we had been extensively fortunate in the