You wonder if the people in the omnibus know that Madge and you are just married; and if the driver knows that the shilling you hand to him is for "self and wife?" You wonder if anybody was ever so happy before, or ever will be so happy again?
You enter your name upon the hotel books as "Clarence—and Lady;" and come back to look at it,—wondering if anybody else has noticed it,—and thinking that it looks remarkably well. You cannot help thinking that every third man you meet in the hall, wishes he possessed your wife; nor do you think it very sinful in him to wish it. You fear it is placing temptation in the way of covetous men, to put Madge's little gaiters outside the chamber-door at night.
Your home, when it is entered, is just what it should be—quiet, small,—with everything she wishes, and nothing more than she wishes. The sun strikes it in the happiest possible way; the piano is the sweetest toned in the world; the library is stocked to a charm; and Madge, that blessed wife, is there—adorning and giving life to it all. To think, even, of her possible death, is a suffering you class with the infernal tortures of the Inquisition. You grow twain of heart and of purpose. Smiles seem made for marriage; and you wonder how you ever wore them before!
NELLIE.
THERE she sat, with both little hands covering her face. It was twilight, and beyond the little finger glanced a watchful eye towards the door, to see if Theodore would go. She didn't think he would. He came back.
"Is the little child crying?" he asked, relentingly, as he took the pretty fingers, one by one, away from the youthful face, hard as she tried to keep them there. At last she gave up, and broke into a merry laugh.
"You little hypocrite!" said her husband, in rather an incensed tone of voice—men do hate to be gulled into soothing a laughing wife.
"Well! can't I go?" pleaded the enchanting little creature, looking up into his eyes so beseechingly.
"Why, Nellie, it isn't becoming for you to go without me."
"Yes, it is!" she answered, in a very low way, as if she hardly dared say it, and at the same time running her forefinger through the hem of her silk apron. "May I go?" and she lifted up her eyes in the same beseeching way again.