Osborn; "the surprise simply
bowled _me_ over."

Rokeby had already guessed right, but he had the tact and kindness not
to say so; he had known men's pleasure in the telling before.

"Are you going to tell me?" he asked.

"Am I _not_, old man?" said Osborn, looking at the colour of his
ale with a kind of smiling remoteness. "Well ... this is it ... how
does one put it?... Well, here it is. Next September there'll be
three people instead of two at No. 30 Welham Mansions."

"By Jove!" said Rokeby. "You must be awf'ly pleased!"

"Simply off my head! So's Marie."

He did not bank his two pounds that week, but kept them in his pocket.
They need not spend both, but one Marie must have. And when he went
home that afternoon, having asked permission to leave early, for a
family purpose, and when he put the usual 30s. into his wife's hand,
he cried:

"You're coming out shopping, Mrs. Kerr. You're coming out to buy yards
and yards of whatever it is. And why mayn't we do a little dinner as
well? You're to be kept cheerful."

She had been feeling pathetic all day, and she was full of pleasure at
this. She hugged Osborn and lavished on him all her peculiar pet
endearments, and ran to change into her best suit and furs. They went
out together, very happy, and town lay spread before them, as if for
their delight. It was scarcely yet full dusk, the sky was like opals
and the streets were just becoming grey, the lamps starring them. The
cold was crisp, and women in short skirts, trim boots, and big furs
stepped briskly, their faces rosy. Osborn had his hand under the arm
of a woman as trimly shod, as nicely-furred as any they met, and, as
well, as being proud and thrilled with his new significance, he was
proud of her. He liked men to glance away from the girls they escorted
at Marie's face; and he liked to think: "Yes, you admire her, don't
you? That little girl you're with--you're taking her out and spending
your money on her and making an ass of yourself, and she don't care
tuppence for you. But this beautiful woman I'm taking out is my wife,
and she loves me."

Osborn was led, dazzled, into labyrinthine shops; he stood with Marie
before long counters, while she inspected fine fabrics and, drawing
off her glove, felt them critically with her fine hand. He watched her
eagerly and devotedly, as if he read the concentration of her
thoughts, and he imagined the thoughts to be these:

"Is this soft enough for him? Is this deli