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 me
you're not starting off just right."

Rose hastened to prepare the meal, finding it more difficult to be
cheerful as she realized how indifferent Martin was to her feelings, if
only she presented a smooth surface. He had not seemed even to notice
how orderly and freshened everything was. She thought of the new
experience soon to be hers. Could it make up for all the understanding
and friendly appreciation that she saw only too clearly would be missing
in her daily life? Resolutely, she suppressed her doubts.

Martin, bothered by an odd feeling of strangeness in the midst of his
own familiar surroundings, smoked his pipe in silence and studied Rose
soberly. Why, he asked himself, was he unmoved by a woman who was so
attractive? He liked the deftness with which her hands worked the pie
dough, the quick way she moved between stove and table, yet mingled with
this admiration was a slight but distinct hostility. How can one like
and have an aversion to a person at the same time? he pondered. "I
suppose," he concluded grimly, "it's because I'm supposed to love and
adore her--to pretend a lot of extravagant feelings."

His mind travelled to the stock in the pasture. How stolid they were and
how m