se it will grow worse as time
goes on, and more masculine tastes develop."

Grizel paused, cup in hand, to stare reflectively at the fire.

"Do you know that's a subject which is exercising me very much! All my
life until now I've lived with women, and been conversationally on my
own ground, and now there's Martin! We've got to have meals together,
and depend on each other for conversation until death doth us part, and
it's a big proposition. Suppose he gets bored? Suppose _I_ get bored?
At present it's such delight just to be together, that it doesn't matter
what we say. I could talk hats by the hour, and he would be patient,
and he could prose about golf, and I'd murmur sympathetically in the
pauses, and be quite happy just watching him, and thinking what a dear
he was, but"--she put down her cup--"I'm not a child; I _know_ that that
stage must pass! It may be just as sweet to be together--it may be
sweeter, but the novelty will pass... Tell me!" she bent forward,
gazing in Cassandra's face. "How soon does it pass?"

Again Cassandra was conscious of stiffened lips, of making a pretence at
the answering smile.

"The time varies, but even in exceptional cases it is horribly soon. I
was very young when I married. We were a big family at home, and very
hard up. It was a revolutionary change to come almost straight from the
schoolroom, and an allowance of a few shillings a week, to be mistress
of the Court. I was wild with excitement, it seemed impossible that I
could ever get _blase_."

"But you did?"

"Oh, yes."

"How soon?"

"Very soon, I'm afraid. Incredibly soon."

Grizel tossed her head.

"I am never _blase_. It's impossible that I ever could be. Life
interests me too much. The more difficult it is, the more absorbing it
becomes. But I'm sorry for the poor little ignorant brides who believe
so implicitly in the `happy-ever-after' theory, that they take no
trouble to make it come true. I'm twenty-eight, nearly twenty-nine, and
I've no illusions on the point. My husband and I are gloriously happy,
but I know we shan't go on at the same level, unless I work hard to keep
it up."

"I! Why not _we_? Surely it's a mutual affair?"

"Yes, but bless 'em! men are _not_ adaptive, and most of them are so
busy making the bread and butter, and too tired when that's over, to
bother about anything more! It's the women who have to do the fitting
in. That brings us back to where we started. I'm t