adorable?" she exclaimed.

"You aren't going to put on The Frock, are you, dear girl, to do the
cooking?"

"I'll put it on afterwards, just before we dish up."

"I'll dress, too," said Osborn.

They proceeded to the kitchen and played with all their new toys
there. There was not so much to do, after all, because Mrs. Amber,
wise woman, had provided one of those ready-made but expensive little
meals from the Stores. You just added this to the soup and heated it;
you put that in a casserole dish and shoved it in the oven; you
whipped some cream; and you made a savoury out of tinned things. You
got out the plated vegetable dish which wasn't to be used except on
great occasions--but this was one--and put the potatoes in it. You
laid the table with every blessed silver thing you had, till it looked
like a wedding-present show, as indeed it was. You lighted four
candles and put rose shades over them, almost like those at the hotel
palace. You ranged the dessert on the sideboard, for you must have
dessert, to use those tiptop finger-bowls. In each finger-bowl you
floated a flower to match the table decorations. You placed the coffee
apparatus--quite smart to make your own, you know--on the sideboard,
too.

Thus you had a swagger little dinner; most delectable.

Then you put on the frock of frocks, and cooled your rather sorched
hands with somebody else's gentlest kisses, the healing brand, and
with some pinkish powder as smooth as silk. Then somebody else put on
his dinner-clothes and looked the finest man in the world. Then you
dished up the hot part of the dinner, and the creamy sweet was all
ready at the other end of the table--so easy to arrange these things
gracefully without a parlourmaid, you know--and absolutely
_everything_ was accomplished.

You sat down.

Love was about and around you.

What delicious soup by a clever wee cook!

Was there happiness at table? There was not greater happiness in
heaven.

CHAPTER IV

DREAMS

"You'll lie still, Mrs. Kerr," said Osborn, when they awoke for the
first time in their own flat, "and I shall bring you a cup of tea."

"But," said the drowsy Marie, raising herself on an elbow, with all
her shining hair--far prettier than any one of the pinky caps with
which she loved to cover it--falling over her childish white
shoulders, "I must get up; Osborn, really I must; there's breakfast to
cook--and you mustn't be late."

"Lie still, Mrs. Kerr," cried the yo