y she is right, for certainly we do
not think alike on a single point."

Bessie's eyes opened rather widely at this candid statement. She was a
simple little soul, and had not yet learned the creed of emancipation.
She held the old-fashioned views that her mother had held before her.
Her mother seldom talked on these subjects, and Bessie had inherited
this reticence. She listened with a sort of wondering disgust when her
girl acquaintances chattered flippantly about their lovers, and boasted
openly of their power over them.

"If this sort of thing ever comes to me," thought Bessie on these
occasions, "I shall think it too wonderful and precious to make it the
subject of idle conversation. How can any one take upon themselves the
responsibility of another human being's happiness--for that is what it
really means--and turn it into a jest? It is far too sacred and
beautiful a thing for such treatment. I think mother is right when she
says, 'Girls of the present day have so little reticence.'"

She hardly knew what to make of Edna's speech; it was not exactly
flippant, but it seemed so strange to hear so young a creature speak in
that cool, matter-of-fact way.

"I don't see how people are to get on together, if they do not think
alike," she observed, in a perplexed voice; but Edna only laughed.

"I am afraid we don't get on. Mother says she never saw such a couple;
that we are always quarrelling and making up like two children; but I
put it to you, Miss Lambert, how are things to be better? I am used to
my own way, and Mr. Sinclair is used to his. I like fun and plenty of
change, and dread nothing so much as being bored--_ennuyee_, in fact,
and he is all for quiet. Then he is terribly clever, and has every sort
of knowledge at his fingers' end. He is a barrister, and rising in his
profession, and I seldom open a book unless it be a novel."

"I wonder why he chose you," observed Bessie naively, and Edna seemed
much amused by her frankness.

"Oh, how deliciously downright you are, Miss Lambert. Well, do you know
I have not the faintest notion why Neville asked me to marry him, any
more than I know why I listened to him. I tell him sometimes that it was
the most ridiculous mistake in the world, and that either he or I, or
both of us, must have been bewitched. I am really very sorry for him
sometimes; I do make him so unhappy; and sometimes I am sorry for
myself. But there, the whole thing is beyond my comprehension. If