That proved her worthy; she made Marna happy!  Of what greater use could any person be in this world?  George retired to prepare for dinner, and Marna to settle the baby for the night, and Kate went on with the preparations for the meal, while her thoughts revolved like a Catherine wheel.

There were the chops yet to cook, for George liked them blazing from the broiler, and there was the black coffee to set over.  This latter was to fortify George at his post, for it was agreed that he was not to sleep lest he should fail to awaken at the need and demand of the beloved potentate in the cradle; and Marna now needed a little stimulant if she was to keep comfortably awake during a long evening—­she who used to light the little lamps in the windows of her mind sometime after midnight.

They had one of those exclamatory dinners where every one talked about the incomparable quality of the cooking.  The potatoes were after a new recipe,—­something Spanish,—­and they tasted deliciously and smelled as if assailing an Andalusian heaven.  The salad was piquante; the trifle vivacious; Kate’s bonbons were regarded as unique, and as for the coffee, it provoked Marna to quote the appreciative Talleyrand:—­

     “Noir comme le diable,
     Chaud comme l’enfer,
     Pur comme un ange,
     Doux comme l’amour.”

Other folk might think that Marna had “dropped out,” but Kate could see it written across the heavens in letters of fire that neither George nor Marna thought so.  They regarded their table as witty, as blessed in such a guest as Kate, as abounding in desirable food, as being, indeed, all that a dinner-table should be.  They had the effect of shutting out a world which clamored to participate in their pleasures, and looked on themselves as being not forgotten, but too selfish in keeping to themselves.  It kept little streams of mirth purling through Kate’s soul, and at each jest or supposed brilliancy she laughed twice—­once with them and once at them.  But they were unsuspicious—­her friends.  They were secretly sorry for her, that was all.

After dinner there was Marna to dress.

“Naturally I haven’t thought much about evening clothes since I was married,” she said to Kate.  “I don’t see what I’m to put on unless it’s my immemorial gold-of-ophir satin.”  She looked rather dubious, and Kate couldn’t help wondering why she hadn’t made a decision before this.  Marna caught the expression in her eyes.

“Oh, yes, I know I ought to have seen to things, but you don’t know what it is, mavourneen, to do all your own work and care for a baby.  It makes everything you do so staccato!  And, oh, Kate, I do get so tired!  My feet ache as if they’d come off, and sometimes my back aches so I just lie on the floor and roll and groan.  Of course, George doesn’t know.  He’d insist on our having a servant, and we can’t begin to afford that.  It isn’t the wages alone; it’s the waste and breakage and all.”