Her anxious look at her girl was dispelled by the brightness in the bride’s face.  The small home was very snug; it maintained a high tone of comfort and elegance.  Mrs. Amber sat down by the dining-room fire and drew off her gloves and said: 

“Now tell me all about it, duck.”

“All about what?” said Marie.

“The honeymoon,” said Mrs. Amber.

Marie looked at her mother as if she were mad.  She smiled at the fire.  “We had a lovely time,” she replied evasively.

“And had that man lighted the fires yesterday?  I couldn’t get round—­”

“It was all absolutely ready, thank you, mother.”

“I brought the things the day before, except the cream.  That I told him to get.  And the flowers.  I don’t see the flowers, love.”

“They are mostly in the drawing-room,” said Marie.

“I should like to see the drawing-room now it’s finished,” said Mrs. Amber, rising eagerly.

In the small room of pale hues she stood satisfied, almost entranced.  But she had those sad things to say which occur inevitably to elderly women of domestic avocations.

“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.