"Nothing's the matter. I'm just a little nervous." Rose began to
cry afresh. If only Martin had come to her and put his arms
around her, she would have been able to throw off her newly-born
fear of him and this disheartening shattering of her faith in his
kindness. But he was going to the other extreme, growing harder
as she was becoming more panicky.

"Nervous? What's there to be nervous about?" Rose's answer was
stifled sobbing. "You're not sorry you married today, I hope?"
She shook her head. "Then what's this mean, anyway?"

"I was wondering if we are going to be happy after all--"

"Happy? You don't like this place. That's the trouble. I was
afraid of this, but I thought you knew what you were about when
you said you could stand it for a while."

"Oh, it isn't the house itself, Martin," she hastened to correct
truthfully, sure that she had gone too far. "I--I--know we'll be
happy."

Again this talk about happiness. He did not like it. He had never
hunted for happiness, and he was contented. Why should she
persist in this eternal search for this impossible condition? He
supposed that occasionally children found themselves in it, but
surely grown-ups could not expect it. The nearest they could
approach it was in forgetting that there was such a state by
finding solace in constant occupation.

"Let's eat," he announced. "I'm sick of this wrangling. Seems to