MOLLY during the month had become acquainted with all Mr. and Mrs. Winfield’s friends; they had gone to the “readings” each week, and, not being hypocritical young people, but very ready to be amused, had enjoyed themselves much. The “readings,” she found, were really modified theatricals; and as happily no great tragedies or legitimate dramas were attempted, but bright comedies or farces, they were usually well done; and where they were not the fun was greater. Molly was glad they had found so many pleasant people in Greenfield; it made the ordeal of a winter in the country for Harry far less trying. She was expressing an idea of this sort to Mrs. Framley, who said:— “But you don’t seem to think the ordeal is as great for you, who are in the country all day. I’m afraid you spoil Mr. Bishop.” “Oh dear, no,” laughed Molly; “but I do think it right to make life just as pleasant to him as I can.” “My dear, don’t you think women do too much of that? Isn’t it just as much a man’s business to see that his wife enjoys herself as hers to cater to _his_ amusement? You told me the other day you don’t care for chess; yet you make a point of playing it. Why shouldn’t Mr. Bishop make a point of doing something you like?” “I don’t know; but I don’t believe he would think of it; if he did, no doubt he would try to amuse me.” “That’s just it! You are so self-effacing that it doesn’t occur to him. I am no woman’s rights woman; I don’t want to vote; but I do not believe in catering to a husband’s taste any more than he caters to mine.” “I haven’t thought much about it,” said Molly slowly. “It just comes natural to me to do what I can to please Harry, but I don’t know that it is any credit to me, for I enjoy it just as much as he does; perhaps if I didn’t I might not do it.” “Well, you are newly married, but later you will find you have made him thoroughly selfish; at least, he is a remarkable young man if he doesn’t get so. Look at Jane Carlyle!” Molly laughed. “I love Mrs. Carlyle, and I am always surprised at the tone of commiseration adopted toward her. I think she thoroughly enjoyed ministering to her husband—why shouldn’t she? She loved and admired him, and it was her life work; and I think I understand such a woman well enough to feel sure she was happier drudging for him than she would have been with some smaller man drudging for her. All her letters, for the first twenty-five years of her married life, show that she rather gloried in overcoming her difficulties. I dare say she would have pitied some other woman doing the same things; but we all leave out, in thinking of others, the personal affection which makes the things we do and suffer for those we love a pleasure.”