'O is that it?' said Hazel. 'There—happily for you, I have found some sugarplums. Do you buy so many now-a-days that you have no taste for more?' 'What on earth are you about?' 'Hard at work on chaos—!' 'What sort of chaos?' 'Don't you see?' said Wych Hazel. 'Here are six brackets together, for instance, which _should_ be one in a place; and I am puzzled in what light to hang these pictures;—and these books have no place where to be. And if you want needles, Josephine, or a thimble—or a sewing-bird, or any little trifle like notepaper or a clotheshamper, help yourself!'—And her sweet laugh rung out, half for nervousness and half for fun. 'How long have you been married?' was the other lady's impetuous question. 'Since some time last year,' said Hazel, dragging up another package. 'Don't be wicked, Hazel! Were you married at Christmas? Kitty Fisher says so, and I didn't believe it. Were you really?' 'I suppose Dr. Maryland does such things "really," when he does them at all.' 'Yes!' said Josephine, after a moment's pause and with a half groan, 'that's the worst of it. I wish I could know it was a sham. _I_ think marriages ought to be broken, if people want them broken. The law ought to be so.' Hazel was silent. 'Don't you think, that when people are tired of each other, they ought not to be bound to live together?' 'But you were tired to begin with.' 'No, I wasn't; not so. I thought I could get along with John Charteris. He wasn't a beauty, nor a distinguished speaker, but I thought I could get along with him. Hazel, I hated him before I had been married a week. Men are at your feet till you are tied to them, fast; and then—it's very hard, Hazel!—the man is the master, and he likes it.' 'Is that Mr. Charteris?' said Hazel. 'It is every man!' 'Some flourish their sceptres with a difference,' said Hazel, her lips at play. 'Take another bonbon?' 'It's nothing to laugh at!' said the girl bitterly. 'I know you will tell me you warned me,—but what could I do? They were all at me; mamma said I must be married some time; and I thought it didn't make much difference; and now—I think I'll run away. Do you like your husband?' 'No,' said Hazel with indescribable arch of her brows, which was however extremely stately. But as she spoke, the very flush of the morning—all light and joy and promise—stirred and mantled and covered her face. It was unmistakeable; words could not have been clearer. She bent down over her parcels. And Josephine, watching her keenly, saw and read. It was very bitter to her. 'Why,' she said incredulously, though she was not incredulous, 'you used to hate him a year ago. Do you remember when he would not let you ride home with us from the Seatons' one night, and how furious you were? Has he changed?' 'As I never remember hating anybody in my life,' said Wych hazel, 'it is perhaps useless to discuss the question. Do you spend the winter here?'