Palmer and Christine returned from their wedding trip the day K. discovered
Tillie. Anna Page made much of the arrival, insisted on dinner for them
that night at the little house, must help Christine unpack her trunks and
arrange her wedding gifts about the apartment. She was brighter than she
had been for days, more interested. The wonders of the trousseau filled
her with admiration and a sort of jealous envy for Sidney, who could have
none of these things. In a pathetic sort of way, she mothered Christine
in lieu of her own daughter.

And it was her quick eye that discerned something wrong. Christine was not
quite happy. Under her excitement was an undercurrent of reserve. Anna,
rich in maternity if in nothing else, felt it, and in reply to some speech
of Christine's that struck her as hard, not quite fitting, she gave her a
gentle admonishing.

"Married life takes a little adjusting, my dear," she said. "After we have
lived to ourselves for a number of years, it is not easy to live for some
one else."

Christine straightened from the tea-table she was arranging.

"That's true, of course. But why should the woman do all the adjusting?"

"Men are more set," said poor Anna, who had never been set in anything in
her life. "It is harder for them to give in. And, of course, Palmer is
older, and his habits--"