Osborn looked in a cupboard and there he saw foods, enough to begin on, placed there by the thoughtful Mrs. Amber.  Upon the kitchen table was a furnished tea-tray, the one woman knowing by instinct what the other woman would first require after her day’s journey.  Osborn lighted one of the jets of the gas-stove.  What a neat stove!  A kettle was handy.  What a ’cute kettle!  Aluminium, wasn’t it?  None of those common tin things.  He filled the kettle from a tap which was a great improvement on any tap which he had ever seen.

They were all his own.

He cut bread-and-butter.

He lighted the grill of the gas-stove and made toast.  They had a handsome hot-toast dish.

He hunted for sugary dainties such as Marie loved.  Mrs. Amber had provided them in a tin.  He arranged them with thought and care.

Wasn’t there any cream for his love?  There was a tin of it.  He emptied the cream out lavishly.

All the while the petted bride rested by the fire in her little chintz room.  Life had petted her, her employers had wanted to, and her mother had petted her, but never had she revelled in such supreme petting as the last fortnight’s.

Where did all these fierce, man-hating young women whom one met quite often get their ideas from?  If only they knew, if only they could be told, could be forced to open their eyes and see, how perfect the right sort of marriage really was!

Why, a man, poor dear, was abject!  A girl had things all her own way.  Secretly and sweetly Marie smiled over Osborn’s devotion.

As she smiled, looking tender and lovely, in the firelight, the door opened, and Osborn came in, perilously balancing his tray on one hand like a waiter.  He meant her to laugh at his dexterity; he felt a first-class drawing-room comedian with his domestic attainments.  Over one arm he had slung a brand-new teacloth.  He intoned unctuously: 

“I think I have all you want, madam.”

Marie laughed as Osborn wanted her to do.

“Sit still,” he urged, “I’ll arrange it all.  The toast in the fender; the cloth on the table; the tray on the cloth.  I understand everything.  See, Mrs. Kerr?  You won’t be the only know-all in this establishment.”

Then he waited upon her; but he let her pour out the tea, because he wanted to see her do it, in her own home, for the first time.  The situation thrilled both, after a fortnight of thrills.

“I wish Desmond could see us now!” said Osborn.

“I wish Julia could.”

“I think we should convert ’em.”

Osborn sat on the hearthrug with shoulders against Marie’s knees.  One of her hands stole round his neck and he held it there; he knew it was the softest small hand in the world; he had no misgivings about it and its tasks.  The hour seemed ineffably rosy.

“And to-morrow,” he stated, “I go back to work.”

“My poor boy,” said Marie, “and I shan’t work any more.”