e knew how shy these young things were. And this time Marie
looked at Osborn with the ghost of a smile, barely more than a tremor
of the lips. He bent down.

She whispered into his ear: "I don't--think--I could ever--go--through
it--again."

"Never again, my sweetheart," he whispered back.

She made a motion with her lips; he kissed them gently. "Good night,"
he murmured, "sleep well, poor little angel."

"She'll sleep," said the nurse unexpectedly, from near the fire. She
was tending the baby now, and Osborn looked across at it in the
subdued light. What a little mottled pink thing! What creases! What
insignificance to have brought about all this!

"Look at your bonnie baby, Mr. Kerr," said the nurse, holding the mite
aloft.

"Is that a bonnie baby?" said Osborn sourly.

"Osborn," whispered Marie from the bed, "he's a beautiful baby!"

Osborn looked down, startled, and saw in her wan face some glimmer of
an unknown thing. She--_she_--was pleased with the baby! _She_ admired
and loved it!

He went out astonished.

The next morning, still flat on her pillows, she was nursing the baby
with a smile on her mouth. Under her pink cap the faintest colour
bloomed in her cheek; she asked for a fresh pink ribbon for her
nightgown; she had slept peacefully. Some flowers were sent very
early, with congratulations. They were from Rokeby and from Julia, and
were arranged near her bed as she lay with this wonderful toy, this
little new pet, Osborn's son, beside her. She had emerged out of her
black darkness into light.

CHAPTER IX

PROBLEMS

Throughout Marie's convalescence there were things to buy; little
things, but endless; to a woman who has suffered so greatly for their
mutual joy can a man deny anything? The husband of a year cannot.
Every day, before he went to his work--he was third salesman to one of
the best Light Car Companies in town--Osborn held consultation, over
the breakfast table, with the nurse. He used to say, as bravely and
carelessly as if he felt no pinch at his pocket, "Is there anything
you want to-day, Nurse?" And there was always something, a lotion, or
a powder, or a new sponge, or a cake of a particular soap. The nurse
had no compunction in adding: "If you _do_ see a few nice grapes,
or a really tender chicken, Mr. Kerr, I believe she might fancy them."

Osborn's lunches, during that month, grew lighter and lighter; they
almost ceased.

Mrs. Ambler proved expensive in the kitche