I gave her my bunch of keys, and she was a long time trying them. I took no notice of this, being engrossed in a feuilleton, and taking from the style in which the exciting incidents were described a lesson for the novel I contemplated writing. "Not one of them will fit," said Barbara, throwing the keys into my lap. Shortly afterwards she called out, "Congratulate me, John, I have found my key. It was in my pocket all the time. See what a simple little woman you have married; and you thought me clever, you foolish boy!" So far as I can recall my impressions I am endeavoring to describe them faithfully. I went through many transitions of feeling in those days, now hoping, now despairing, now accusing myself of doing my wife an injustice, now sternly convinced that I was right. On this day I was comforted, Barbara was so bright, so ingenuous, and I firmly believed she would keep the promise she had given me. She brought into play all the arts and fascinations by which she had beguiled me in our courting days. She ordered me to take her for a drive, to buy her violets, to drive to the Magazin de Louvre to make purchases (where she selected a number of things she did not need), to take her to a famous restaurant to dine--"it is so dull," she said, "to dine in a stuffy little room all by ourselves"--and, dinner over, she invited me to accompany her to a theatre where a comedy was being played which Annette had told her was very amusing. "I can't live without excitement," she said. "I love theatres, I love bright weather, I love flowers, I love handsome men--why do you look so grave, sir? Do you not love handsome women? You are a ninny if you don't, and if you don't, sir, why did you marry me?" "Barbara," I said gravely, "it is a strange question, I know, but do you think we are suited to one another?" "It is a strange question," she replied, laughing. "My dear, we were made for one another. Fie, love! Do you forget that marriages are made in Heaven?" "Ours, Barbara?" "Certainly, ours." Wonderful were the inconsistencies of her utterances; one moment questioning whether she had not made a mistake in marrying me, the next declaring that our marriage was made in heaven. "I have not a secret from you," I said. "Nor I from you," she returned. "I hope you agree with me, John, that there should be perfect confidence between man and wife, that they should hide nothing from one another." "I do agree with you; not even the smallest matter should be hidden."