more at ease. For one thing, there is
the traditional hazing process to which the bride must be subjected.
Jack takes the lead. Admitting that to-night's repast is an unqualified
success, he hints that there have been occasions when, if he only would,
there might be a different tale to tell. The visitor protests; yet in
the extravagant praise he resorts to there is a suggestion of mild
banter which is considered the proper thing. The wife professes to
enter into the joke; but in her heart she laughs to see the two men go
solemnly through the stupid and outworn ceremonial. Young wives nowadays
are excellent cooks. This one has secretly pursued a three months'
course in domestic science and has a diploma hidden away somewhere. But
she pretends to be properly outraged by our foolish satire, and insists
on both being helped a second time to the custard. Jack, in fact, eats
all that remains. It makes dish-washing easier, he says.

And as the visitor steers his way pleasantly through the meal, he makes
the acquaintance of an extraordinary number of relatives. The spoons, he
finds, are from Aunt Amy. Aunt Amy lives in Syracuse and at first
objected to the match. The salt cellar is from a male cousin who (you
learn this from Jack), it was thought at one time, would be the
fortunate man himself--that is, until Jack appeared on the scene. Poor
fellow, he sought consolation by marrying, only two months later, a nice
girl from Alexandria, Va. The cut-glass salad dish is from the bride's
dearest friend at boarding-school, a charming girl, who paints and sings
and is now studying music in Berlin.

When the coffee is brought in, Jack asks if you will smoke. This is, in
a way, the most dangerous situation of the entire evening. If you say
yes, Jack is apt to pass the cigars and and say, "Go right ahead. _I_
have given it up, you know, and I feel all the better for it." But if
you are expert in reading faces, and decide that the bride probably has
conscientious scruples against the habit, and you reply "No," Jack is
likely to say, "Sorry, but Alice allows _me_ one cigar a day after
dinner," and you are left to suffer the torments of the lost, and have
lied into the bargain. Nor is it possible to lay down any rule for
arriving at the correct reply under such circumstances. A hurried glance
about the house will not help one. A handsome bronze ash-tray may be
only a paperweight. Young wives are in the habit of buying their
husbands the mo