t down and kissed him, crying: "Oh, I'm a
beast; forgive me! But I'm so tired, and somehow so--so ragged."

"Poor darling!"

"You'd better go and bathe, Osborn. We're late as it is."

"So we are, by Jove! Look, I'll be awf'ly quick this morning, and come
and help you. That'll be some good, won't it?"

She assented with sorrowful little sniffs, and he took his
perplexities away into the bathroom. He was terribly troubled, not
seeing what was to be done. What could a man do? Women's work, women's
lives, were the same all the world over--married women's, that is. One
couldn't do more than give them the best home one could, and come back
to it like a good boy early every evening, and love them very much. If
one were only rich! How money helped everything! Osborn cursed his
meagre pockets as heartily as Marie had cried over them.

Osborn hastened into his clothes and went to the kitchen. Bacon was
sizzling gently over a low flame, coffee and toast were made; nothing
remained for him to do, but, very wishful to show his good intentions,
he stood over the bacon as if controlling its destinies. Marie found
him there, quiet and thoughtful, when she came in.

"It's all ready," she observed in a subdued voice.

"Bravo, kiddie!" said Osborn, "I see it is. You're magnificent."

A little while ago this praise would have made her glow sweetly, but
now it tasted sour in her mouth; she did not particularly wish to be a
magnificent cook-general, a magnificent charwoman. All her nerves felt
stretched as if they must snap and she must scream. Tremblingly she
set a tray on the table.

"Don't give me any, please."

"Darling! No breakfast!"

"I'll have some toast. Oh, don't, don't worry me! I've told you I feel
simply on edge."

Osborn ate his bacon with a feeling that somehow he ought not; but he
was hungry. He ate Marie's portion, too, half apologetically. There
was one thing, however, which, very sensibly, he omitted to do; he had
the tact not to open the morning paper. There are some things which a
woman will not stand, and one is the sight of an abstracted man behind
a paper, letting his crumbs fall down his waistcoat, when she feels
nervy.

"Lovely morning, dearest," said Osborn; "you ought to go for a brisk
walk."

"Perhaps I will."

"You do look awf'ly seedy."

"I feel it."

"I hope your mother will come round this morning. She'd do the
marketing for you, or something, wouldn't she?"

"Yes, Osborn, I'm sure sh