“And you don’t suppose we forget it?”

She had a pretty laugh; but what made for laughter in her question?

“Men are men,” he stated, rather at a loss, “and women are women.”

She laughed more.

“It’s been said before” she replied.

Osborn was relieved to find the maid at his elbow with a sweet.

“Alexandra cream, sir?” she was asking confidentially.

“I hope you’ll like this, Osborn,” said Marie; “I prepared it myself this morning.”

When the maid had gone, he switched off to a less troublous track.

“My socks are all in a shocking condition; I don’t know how long it’ll take to mend ’em, dear.”

“I’ll spend to-morrow looking over your things.  I daresay you want repairs throughout.”

“You’re a darling.  I believe I’ve wanted you to look after me.  But don’t stew in over my mending all day.  Run into town and lunch with me.”

“I’ll be delighted, Osborn.”

“We must have a beano one evening, quite soon.  You’d like it?”

“I’d love it.”

He smiled affectionately, pressing her hand.  It was nice to give a woman such pleasure.

After dinner they were to make their own coffee in their old way, in the sitting-room; and after Marie had made it and brought his cup to him, Osborn leaned back in his corner of the couch to smoke and dream and talk happily, as a well-fed man does.  His gaze, wandering round the room, found the piano, which he recognised with respect.

“I say, you said the cushions were the only different things.  There’s that!” He nodded towards the instrument.

“Yes,” she said, her eyes following his, “there’s mother’s piano.  I must tell you all about her will, Osborn; about everything.  She left all she had to me.”

“The furniture and money?”

“Yes.  I sold most of the furniture; Mr. Rokeby helped me to arrange it and saw the dealers for me.”

“Good old Desmond!  I must thank him for that.”

“He’s been extremely kind.”  She looked into the fire. “Extremely,” she repeated.  “He advised me and told me exactly what to do.”

“Did the furniture make much?” Osborn asked with masculine interest in things financial.

“A hundred and fifty pounds, odd.”

“Good!” he exclaimed.

“I paid off all the rest of our own furniture instalments with it.”

“Oh, splendid!” he exclaimed in approval.

“I hoped you’d think so.  A hundred cleared it, as you would know.”

“So little Marie had fifty pounds odd for her own banking account!”

“Not at all,” she said, smiling into the fire as if she saw a very pleasant vision there; “I spent it.”

Osborn took his pipe from his mouth and sat forward.  “Whatever on?” he ejaculated.

His motion was surprise rather than disapproval.  The money was hers, of course.  But that a woman should have the temerity to spend fifty pounds odd in a few months when she was already supplied with enough to ensure comfort for herself and her family....