“There’s a good deal to do in a home.”

“Ah, you’ve found that out?” said Mrs. Amber regretfully.  “We all find it out sooner or later.  But a little domestic work shouldn’t make a girl of your age look so pale and tired as you do.  How do you feel, love?”

“Ragged,” said Marie, “and—­and awf’ly limp.”

A great question was crying in Mrs. Amber’s heart, but she was too tactful to pursue it.  Modern girls were not lightly to be comprehended; she knew well that she did not understand her own daughter, and young people kept their secrets just as long as they thought they would.

“You ought to rest, my dear,” she said hesitatingly.  “I should lie down on that nice couch of yours every day after lunch, if I were you.  A few minutes make all the difference, I assure you.”

“I never used to rest,” said Marie.

Mrs. Amber continued her matronly diplomacy: 

“No, duck; but that was different.  It’s so different—­”

“What is, mother?”

“When you’re married, dear.  You should rest a bit.”

“I don’t know what you mean, mother,” said Marie.

“Just that, love,” Mrs. Amber replied soothingly, “only that you should rest.  It’s wiser and it will make a great difference to you.”

“I can’t think what you mean, mother.  I don’t see why being married should alter one.”

Mrs. Amber looked into the fire and said slowly:  “Well, duck, it does. 
Doesn’t it?”

Now Marie was conscious of an overpowering irritation.  These old wives’ tales!  These matronly saws!  How stupid they were!  How meaningless, foundationless and sickening!  She did not reply to Mrs. Amber’s question, but stirred restlessly in her chair, swinging her foot, and said: 

“Well, it’s after twelve, and we may as well have some lunch.  I’ll just run—­”

“No, love, you won’t!” Mrs. Amber exclaimed, showing considerable vivacity.  “I’m going to take you straight away to lie down on that nice couch, and I’ll find the lunch myself, and we’ll have it on a tray together.  Now!”

“There isn’t a fire in the drawing-room.”

“I’ll soon put a match to it, dear.”

“Then we’ll let this fire out,” said Marie, after a pause.

Mrs. Amber hesitated, too.

“It’s quite right to be careful,” she replied.

“After all,” said Marie, her irritation breaking out, too rebellious for all bonds, “I don’t want it, mother.  I’ll only have to do the grate to-morrow; two grates instead of one.  That’s all.  Such is life!”

Mrs. Amber looked into the fire.

“I’ll tell you what,” said she slowly.  “You lie down on your bed.  I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.  There’s a gas fire there, and we’ll have that.”

“There are such things as gas bills, too.”

“And a time to worry over them,” said Mrs. Amber tartly; “but this isn’t the time.  You’re going to be comfortable, and I’m going to make you so.  You’ll come along with me right now, my duck, and in five minutes you’ll say what a wise old woman you’ve got for a mother.”