l the things she had bought when she first came to town.
Last year's clothes, for they still smilingly called themselves "poor,"
although Joe was doing much better now. Last year's clothes, and the
styles had changed, but in ways which Joe, poor dear, was too blind to
notice.

The room in which she was dressing had somehow assumed a different air.
Although in the main it was the same as when Amy had been here, and her
picture was still on Joe's chiffonier--still subtly by degrees it had
changed. Some of Ethel's clothes were lying about, her work-bag and a
book or two; the dressing table at which she was sitting had been
covered in fresh chintz, and Ethel's things were on it. Joe's picture
and Susette's were here, and a droll little painted bird was perched
above the mirror.

As she glanced into the glass, gaily she thanked herself for the charms
which she was deftly enhancing--in the glossy black hair, smooth and
sleek, in the flushed cheeks and the red of her lips and the gleaming
lights in her brown eyes. She nodded approvingly at herself. "You're a
great help to me, Mrs. Lanier."

In the glass she could see her husband; she felt his glances from time
to time. This evening after dinner they were going out somewhere. To
what, he would not tell her. There had been many of these small
surprises. . . . Now her pulse beat faster, for he had come behind
her. A sudden bending, a quick laugh, a murmur and a silence. Then at
last he let her go; but as she drew a deep, full breath and shot a side
look up at him, he laughed again, low, tensely, and bent over as before.

Left alone, she smiled again into the glass. It was hard to
believe--too wonderful--this amazingly intimate feeling, this living
with somebody, body and soul. And what a child she had been before, a
child in that solemn young resolve to marry Joe, this good, safe man,
and raise a large family carefully. It had been like a small girl
thinking of dolls. And like a small girl she had been in her panic on
the night of her wedding, she thought. How silly, ignorant, funny!
No--she frowned--it had been real, pretty ugly while it lasted. But
like a bug-a-boo it had gone. And this good, safe man had become
transformed in this amazing intimacy and had become a wild delight: a
man to laugh at, tease, provoke, and cling to, silent, in a flame; a man
to mother, study out, probe into deep with questions; a man to plan and
plan with.

"This love is to be the love of his l