“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.