gh the golden glamour of her honeymoon there had loomed suddenly
the discovery that George was not clever--but cleverness mattered so
little, she told herself, as long as he loved her.

"I hope your mother will like me," she said nervously after a minute.

"I'll be sorry for her if she doesn't."

"Do I look nice?"

"Of course you do. I never saw you when you didn't."

"I feel so dreadfully untidy. I never tried to dress in a sleeping-car
before."

"It did rock, didn't it?"

"I'll never travel again at night if I can help it. There's a cinder in
your eye; let me get it out for you." It thrilled her pleasantly to
remove the cinder with the corner of her handkerchief, and to order him
to sit still whenever the cab jolted. It was incredibly young,
incredibly foolish, but it was all a part of the wonderful enchantment
in which she moved. The cinder had made an agreeable episode, but when
it had been removed there was nothing more for them to talk about. In
four weeks of daily and hourly companionship they had said very easily,
Gabriella had found, everything they had longed so passionately to say
to each other. It was strange--it was positively astounding how soon
they had talked themselves empty of ideas and fallen back upon
repetition and ejaculation. Before her marriage she had thought that a
lifetime would be too short to hold the full richness of their
confidences; and yet now, after a month, though they still made love,
they had ceased, almost with relief, to make conversation.

After turning into Fifth Avenue they drove for ages between depressing
examples in brownstone of an architecture which, like George, was trying
rather vaguely to express nothing; and then rolling heavily into
Fifty-seventh Street stopped presently before one of the solemn houses
which stood, in the dignity of utter ugliness, midway of a long block.
"They are all so alike I don't see how I shall ever know where I live,"
thought Gabriella. Then, as George helped her out of the cab, the door
opened as

Martha Finley (1828 - 1909) was a teacher and author of numerous works, the most well known being the 28 volume Elsie Dinsmore series which was published over a span of 38 years. The daughter of Presbyterian minister Dr. James Brown Finley and his wife and cousin Maria Theresa Brown Finley, she was born on April 26th, 1828 in Chillicothe, Ohio. Finley wrote many of her books under the psodonym Martha Farquharson. She died in 1909 in Elkton, Maryland, where she moved in 1876.

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