Rose to be cheerful in the midst of mere squalor as for a flower
to bloom white in a crowded tenement, but at the swift
realization of the lack of tenderness for her which this
indifference to her first impressions so clearly expressed, her
faith in the man she had married began to wither. He had failed
her in the very quality in which she had put her trust. Already,
he had carelessly dropped the thoughtfulness by which he had won
her. She wondered how she could have made herself believe that
Martin loved her. "He has tried so hard in every way to show me
how much I would mean to him," she justified herself. "But now he
has me he just doesn't care what I think."

As Rose forced herself to face this squarely, something within
her crumpled. Grim truth leered at her, hurling dust on her
bright wings of illusion, poking cruel jests. "This is your
wedding day," it taunted, "that tall figure out there near the
dilapidated barn feeding his hogs is your husband. Oh, first,
sweet, most precious hours! How you will always like to remember
them! Here in this dirty shanty you will enter into love's
fulfillment. How romantic! Why doesn't your heart leap and your
arms ache for your new passion?" Tears pushed against her
eyelids. Her new life was not going to be happy. Of this she was
suddenly, irrevocably certain.

Rose struggled against a complete break-down. This was no time
for a scene. What was the matter with her, anyway? Of course,
Martin had not meant to disappoint her, nor deliberately hurt
her. He probably thought this first home so temporary it didn't
count. She simply would not mope. Of that she was positive, and a
brave little smile swimming up from her troubled heart, she set