"When do other people wear them?" retorted Marie, rather confused.
"Have you ever worn things like this?"
"Well," said Marie, "perhaps not. But I've been saving up two years for it, haven't I? And if a girl can't have pretty things in her trousseau, when can she have them?"
Julia sighed and looked. There was a little clutch at her heart, but she went on sturdily:
"All you girls going to be married! I don't know what you expect! I know what you'll get. You seem to think a husband's a cross between Romeo and a fairy godmother. Well, you'll find it's different. You all imagine, when you say good-bye to your typewriter, or the showroom, or whatever line you're in, to marry on an income not so very much bigger than your own, that you're going to live in a palace and be waited upon ever afterwards. You'll have to get up early and cook Osborn's breakfast, shan't you, before he goes out? And make the beds and sweep and dust? And you're buying pink tulle caps as if you were going to breakfast in bed every day!"
"A little housework's nothing! A girl can wear pretty things when she's married, I suppose?"
"Oh, she can."
"She ought to. A man has a right to expect—"
"You'll find a man expects everything he has a right to, and a hundred per cent. more."
"Osborn is very different from most men."