e would."

Osborn helped himself to toast and tried to eat it quietly; he had
some dumb, blind instinct which comes to men, that crunching would be
vexatious. He handed butter and marmalade tenderly to his wife and
carried his cup round to her for replenishment, instead of passing it.
He did all he knew.

The anticipation of Rokeby and that sanctuary, his club, invaded his
mind agreeably. A club was a great institution. If he touched a good
commission this year--but no. Certainly not! He put the idea from him.

He put a hand in his trousers pocket and jingled there. A thought had
come to him, which comes to all men in moments of trial concerning
women, moments calling for prompt treatment and nice judgment.

A present!

He could not afford it, but it must be done. What else could he do? He
felt remarkably helpless. He felt about cautiously and intimately in
his pocket, knowing with exactitude all that was there. It was not
much. On Fridays he now banked half his weekly salary against such
demands as rent, furniture instalments and so on. Thirty shillings he
gave to Marie; ten he kept. This was Tuesday.

He withdrew his hand with something in it--two half-crowns. He would
lunch light for the next three days.

"Darling," he said, with a slight break in his voice, so anxious he
was to propitiate the pale, pretty girl who brooded at him from the
head of the table, "look here! Do something to please me. When I'm out
on the spree to-night let me think of your having a good time too. Why
not ring up Miss Winter and get her to go to the theatre with you?
Here's two seats."

A slight flush stole into Marie's cheeks.

"Oh, Osborn," she said, "but--"

"What?"

"Can you afford it?"

"Blow 'afford'!" said Osborn largely, placing the half-crowns before
her, "we must do absolutely anything to prevent you from getting
wretched."

She took the money up, half hesitating. She read the wistfulness in
his face, but she felt rather wistful too.

"Thank you, Osborn," she murmured; "it'll be lovely. Julia's sure to
come. But, Osborn--"

"What?"

"Some evening you'll take me yourself, won't you?"

"Rather!"

"Shall I save this till to-morrow?"

"No, no!" he cried. "To-day's when you want a tonic, not to-morrow. Go
and get your tonic, Mrs. Osborn. Go and enjoy yourself!"

He was restored to content.

"I must go," he said, jumping up. "Let me kiss you. We're friends,
aren't we, darling? You'll try not to hate the wor