thought: "Osborn's going out to dinner, and I can mope and starve
at home."

With the sub-conscious dutifulness of woman she realised that her bath
was ready; that she must hurry, that there was breakfast to make, and
the dining-room to sweep, and ... and ... what a string of tragic
drabnesses! Obeying this instinct of duty in her, she got, still
sobbing, into the bath, and her tears fell like rain into the hot
water. A man would have cried, "Damn the bath! Damn the breakfast!
Damn the brooms and dusters! Scrap 'em all!" And for the while he
would straightway have scrapped them and felt better. But Marie went
miserably on, as her mother and her grandmother and all those tired
women in the Tube had done times out of number, for the sisterhood of
woman is a strange thing.

Osborn met her as she was coming from her bath, quiet, subdued and
pale. Rather, he had been standing outside the door, waiting and
anxious. "Darling," he said scared, "what is it? Tell me! Aren't you
well? Has anything upset you? What can I do?"

Marie left her dressing-gown in his detaining hands and, sobbing
again, ran along the corridor to her bedroom. She began to put her
hair up feverishly with shaking hands.

Osborn followed her quickly with the dressing-gown, beseeching: "Do
put it on! Do, Marie, do! You'll get cold. It's freezing."

"M-m-much you'd c-c-care," she sobbed.

"Oh, darling," said Osborn, wrapping the dressing-gown and his arms
tightly round her, "tell me! What is the matter? What have I done?
Aren't you happy, dearest?"

"Happy!" she gasped. "Why should I be happy?"

"I-I--love you, dearest," said Osborn in a tremulous voice.

"You g-go out, and every d-day it's the same for me. All day I'm
alone; and I loathe the work. Everything's always the same."

"I wish I could give you a change, sweetheart," said Osborn, terribly
harassed.

She hated herself because she could not be generous, but somehow she
could find no generous words to speak.

"Shall I stay with you this evening, Marie?"

"No. You've p-promised. And I'm not that sort; you t-t-told him so!"

"Is that all that's the matter, Marie? Because everything's always the
same?"

"I'm so tired. And ragged, somehow."

"Oh, Marie, I wish I could stay at home to-day and look after you.
You'll lie down and rest, won't you?"

"When I've finished all my charwoman's work."

Osborn was silent, biting his lips; and presently Marie looked up, and
seeing his face, drew i