hear only what one wanted to hear; to see only what one wanted to see.
Life appeared as a graceful spectacle, a sort of orderly carnival
refined to taste. There would, of course, be the big thrill in
it--Osborn. It would be wonderful to have him coming home to her
successful little dinners every evening. People didn't want a great
deal, after all; all the discontented, puling, peevish, wanting people
one met must be great fools; they had made their beds and made them
wrong; the great thing, the simple secret, was to make them right. A
husband and wife must pull together, in everything. Pulling together
would be sheer joy.

"Osborn," she said, "how well we understand each other, don't we?"

"I should think we do," whispered the young man.

"Few married people seem really happy."

"They must manage life badly, mustn't they?"

"I remember mother and father; mother likes the idea of my getting
married, but they used often to be nagging about something. Expenses, I
think."

"All that I have will be yours, you love," said Osborn, with profound
tenderness.

"But I shan't ask for it," said Marie, with a flash of intuition. "You
don't know how careful I can be. It won't cost you much more than it
does now; less, perhaps, because you won't always be dining at the
club."