and he'd got two more fellows there, and we were a jolly lot, I assure
you, my kid. By Jove! don't I wish I belonged to that club! I've half
a mind to get Desmond to put me up. He would, like a shot. We had an
awf'ly decent dinner; they give you _some_ dinner at that club.
We drank toasts; you'd like to hear about that, wouldn't you? That old
one, you know: 'Our sweethearts and wives; and may they never meet!'"

Osborn laughed.

"I've had a nice evening, too," said Marie, leaning against the
caressing hand.

"That's good," said Osborn. "Miss Winter came and you had dinner here,
I suppose. What did you see?"

"We didn't go to the theatre."

"Not go!" said Osborn, "how was that? You weren't seedy again, were
you, kid?"

"Rather," Marie murmured, "so Julia took me to a doctor instead."

"My dear!" Osborn cried.

"Osborn," said Marie, looking up at him, "we--we're going to have a
baby."

"The deuce we are!" Osborn exclaimed abruptly, and he sat back and
looked down at her sparkling face incredulously.

"You're glad?" she asked.

Osborn pulled himself sharply together. He said to Rokeby afterwards:
"I believe it's the biggest shock of a chap's life. Awful good news
and all that, of course." But now he was concerned only with Marie,
that pretty frail thing so joyously taking upon her shoulders what
seemed to him so vague and dreadful a burden, and for the moment he
was aghast for her.

"Are you?" he stammered.

"I think it's lovely," she murmured.

"Then I'm glad," said Osborn; "if you're glad, I am, you dear, sweet,
best girl. But tell me all the doctor said, angel, and just what we're
to do and everything."

"We don't do anything till next September."

"Is it to be next September?"

"Yes," said Marie, trembling a little.

CHAPTER VII

DISILLUSION

Osborn had to tell Desmond Rokeby; he simply couldn't help it. They
met at a quick lunch counter, an unusual meeting, for Rokeby lunched
almost invariably at his club. As Osborn ate his sandwiches and drank
his ale he was looking sideways at Rokeby all the time, and feeling,
somehow, how futile he was, how worthless bachelors were to the world;
and presently, when the space around them had cleared, and the
white-capped server had moved away, he almost whispered:

"I say, Desmond, there's great news at my place."

Rokeby looked into Osborn's eager face.

"I wonder," said he, "if I could give a guess."

"I know you couldn't, old chap," said