And So They Were Married

by Florence Morse Kingsley

"Well, I am sure that was most sweet and gracious of Mrs. Van Duser. Didn't you find it so, my dear? So dear of her to personally welcome you to Boston! You'll call, of course, as soon as she returns from her country place. She will expect it, I am sure; such women are most punctilious in their code of social requirements, and you can't be too careful not to offend. You'll forgive me for saying this much, won't you, dear?"

Elizabeth was conscious of a distinct sense of displeasure as she met Miss Tripp's anxiously solicitous eyes. "You are very good, Evelyn," she said, "but Sam—Mr. Brewster—thinks it will be best for us not to—" She paused, her candid face suffused with blushes. "I'd—prefer not to talk about Mrs. Van Duser, if you please. We don't ever expect to go and see her."

The tactful Miss Tripp looked sadly puzzled, but she felt that it would not be the part of wisdom to press the issue for the moment. Her face wreathed itself anew in forgiving smiles as she flitted about the little rooms. "Isn't this the most convenient, cosy little apartment?" she twittered. "I am so glad I was able to secure it for you; I assure you I was obliged to use all of my diplomacy with the agent. And your pretty things do light up the dark corners so nicely. And speaking of corners somehow reminds me, I have found you a perfect treasure of a maid; but you must take her at once. She's a cousin of our Marie, and has always been employed by the best people. She was with Mrs. Paget Smythe last, I believe. She told Marie last night that she would be willing to come to you for only twenty dollars a month, and that's very reasonable, considering the fact that she is willing to do part of the laundry work,—the towels, sheets and plain things, you know. Expensive? Indeed it's not, dear—for Boston. Why, I could tell you of plenty of people who are glad to pay twenty-five and put all their laundry out. I'd advise you to engage Annita without delay. Really, you couldn't do better."

Elizabeth shook her head. "I mean to do my own work," she said decidedly. "I shall want something to do while Sam is away, and why not this when I—like it?"

"But you won't like it after a while, my poor child, when the shine is once worn off your new pans and things, and think of your hands! It's absolutely impossible to keep one's nails in any sort of condition, and besides the heat from the gas-range is simply ruinous for the complexion. Didn't you know that? Of course you are all milk and roses now, but how long do you suppose that will last, if you are to be cooped up in a hot, stuffy little kitchen from morning till night?" Miss Tripp paused dramatically, her eyes wide with sympathy and apprehension.

"But we—I am sure we oughtn't to afford to keep a maid," demurred Elizabeth in a small, weak voice. "So please don't——"

"Oh, of course, it is nothing to me, my dear," and Miss Tripp arose with a justly offended air. "I thought I was doing you a kindness when I asked Annita to call and see you this morning. It will be perfectly easy for you to tell her that you don't care to engage her. But when it comes to affording, I think you can scarcely afford to waste your good looks over a cooking range. It is your duty to your husband to keep yourself young and lovely as long as you possibly can. It is only too easy to lose it all, and then—" Miss Tripp concluded her remarks with a shrug of her shapely shoulders, which aroused the too impressionable Elizabeth to vague alarms.

"I am sure," faltered the bride of two months, "that Sam would like me just as well even if I——"

"Of course you think so, dear, every woman does till it is too late," observed Miss Tripp plaintively. "I'm sure I hope it will turn out differently in your case. But I could tell you things about some of my married friends that would— Well, all I have to say is that I never dared try it—matrimony, I mean—and if I were in your place— But there! I mustn't meddle. I solemnly promised myself years and years ago that I wouldn't. The trouble with me is that I love my friends too fondly, and I simply cannot endure to see them making mistakes which might so easily have been avoided. I'm coming to take you out to-morrow, and we'll lunch down town in the nicest, most inexpensive little place. And—dear, if you finally decide not to engage Annita, would you mind telling her that through a slight misunderstanding you had secured some one else? These high-class servants are so easily offended, you know, and on account of our Marie—a perfect treasure Oh, thank you! Au revoir—till to-morrow!"

Perhaps it is not altogether to be wondered at that immediately after Miss Tripp's departure Elizabeth found occasion to glance into her mirror. Yes, she was undoubtedly prettier than ever, she decided, but suppose it should be true about the withering heat of the gas-range; and then there were the rose-tinted, polished nails, to which Elizabeth had only lately begun to pay particular attention. The day's work had already left perceptible blemishes upon their dainty perfection. Elizabeth recalled her mother's hands, marred with constant household labour, with a kind of terror. Her own would look the same before many years had passed, and would Sam—could he love her just the same when the delicate beauty of which he was so fond and proud had faded? And what, after all, was twenty dollars a month when one looked upon it as the price of one's happiness?