nd strange
echoes of questions stirred in her. Such a woman, she thought, would
always make a man find time. How did they do it? What was the real
secret of feminine victory, triumphant and deathless? Was it not to
keep burning always, night and day, winter and summer, autumn and
spring, throughout the seasons, the clear-flamed lamp of romance?

Behind the wife there stood shades, sturdy, greedy, disagreeable
shades, and the two-hundred-pound husband always saw them; they were
the butcher, the grocer, the milkman, the doctor, the landlord and the
tax-collector.

How could she trim her lamp brightly to burn?

In the restaurant many diners had gone; many, lingering, thought of
going; waiters hovered near ready to hand bills, and empty liqueur
glasses and coffee cups, and ash trays, and the dead ends of
cigarettes lay under the rose lights on all the tables. Osborn had
drunk a benedictine and smoked a cigar appreciatively; Marie had begun
to think, reluctantly, yet clingingly, maternally, of her babies in
the pink room at home. She lifted her furs from the chair back, and a
waiter hurried to adjust the stole over her shoulders.

"Sorry," said Osborn, going through the slight motion of attempting to
rise from his chair; "I should have done that."

"Never mind, dear," she answered.

Then he paid the bill, got into his own coat, and they walked out. As
they went, he asked: "Well, old girl, have you really enjoyed it?"

"It was lovely. Thank you so much!"

"Sure it was the sort of birthday present you wanted?"

"Absolutely the one and only thing, Osborn."

"Happy young woman!" He took her arm and squeezed it.

"Cab, sir?" the commissionaire asked.

"We're walking, thanks."

They walked to the nearest Tube station, took train to Hampstead, and
arrived home at eleven, to release the sleepy grandmother on duty.

"Had a lovely time, duck?" asked Mrs. Amber, trotting out into the
hall.

"Tophole, Grannie," said Osborn. "Marie's thoroughly enjoyed herself."

"Simply lovely, mother," said Marie. "We went to the Royal Red, and
Osborn gave me a scrumptious dinner. Babies been good?"

"Not a sound--the little angels."

Marie kissed her mother good night, waved her out, and went quietly
along the corridor to the bedroom; she switched up the light, bent
over the cots of the sleeping children, and assured herself of their
well-being. They slumbered on, placid and dreamless. Then she went to
her dressing-table, and pl