Mrs. Bettyman was enchanted. The furniture was light and graceful; Edwin had guessed her own taste, and she ran about surveying her new home as blithe of heart as any bride on earth. As to household affairs, she knew enough to call herself an accomplished _ménagère_, and shaking back her sunny curls, she gayly challenged her cousin Isabel and myself to dine with her that day week. So “all went merry as a marriage bell;” and as we returned home Isabel expressed her satisfaction at the choice Edwin had made, and the sweet relative he had given her, for, as I ought to have mentioned before, she was _his_ cousin. “They seem well matched,” said I, musingly, and half sadly, too. “I wonder, now, how much there is for each to learn of the other. How many failings to come out, like dark spots upon the deep, clear blue of love’s happy horizon.” “Why really, you grow fanciful,” laughed my companion. “Surely they must know one another by this time!” I opened my eyes in wonder. The idea of any man or woman being aught but a faultless monster, after three weeks’ marriage, was preposterous in the extreme. How few weddings there would be, were lovers sent to the Palace of Truth for a month or two. “Does not Josephine think her husband free from faults, Isabel?” asked I, after a pause. “I fear that she does,” said she, smiling, “but,” added earnestly, “I hope not. Even I, who have been Edwin’s favorite cousin, cannot presume to say what kind of a husband he will be. A very pleasant acquaintance may become a disagreeable person to live with; a gentle manner may conceal an evil heart. Not that I suspect Edwin of either, but you have conjured me into seriousness somehow, and I begin to doubt the existence of that perfect happiness supposed to follow the union of two loving hearts.” “A poet’s dream,” exclaimed I. “The Eden of early faith changes too soon to dread and despair. There is no perfect bliss on earth, and of quiet, sober happiness, how few instances!” Isabel turned toward me with an air of astonishment that amused while it abashed me. I might be accused of experimental knowledge and I looked away. “Have you foresworn marriage, my dear, or have you had an escape after a sentence of banishment to the Palace of Truth?” Just as I said—an accusation in set terms. So I laughed very affectedly at my homilies, and confessed that I was in a reflective mood. We changed the subject, and went home through a pleasant wood, stopping a while to choose some bright wild-flower, or watch the “lazy pacing clouds” pile themselves into enormous masses of blue and silver, to melt away into mysterious shapes as we gazed.