“Thank heaven, no.”  Osborn kissed the hand he held.

“This must always stay as soft as rose-leaves,” he said fondly.

“You may count on my doing my best for it,” said Marie laughing, “I like nice hands.  No woman can look well-dressed without nicely-kept hands.  And that reminds me, Osborn, I want some more cream for my nails—­cuticle-cream it’s called.  Any good cuticle-cream will do.”

He hastened to jot it down in a notebook.  His first little commission for his wife!  For Miss Amber there had been many, but this was almost epoch-making as being for Mrs. Osborn Kerr.  “I’ll get it in the dinner-hour, or on my way home.  Can’t you think of anything else you want?”

“I have everything else.”

“You always shall have.”

“What was the kitchen like?” Marie asked.  “Was it tidy?”

“It’s the smartest little place.”

“I’ll see it presently, when we wash-up.”

“You’re not going to wash-up.”

“But, Osborn, I shall have to, often.  Every day, you know.”

He looked a trifle unhappy over this, knitting his brows.  Of course, they had both known that the moment would come when Marie would handle a dishcloth in the best interests of Number Thirty, but it had seemed somewhat remote in those queer, forgotten unmarried days more than a fortnight ago; more than ever remote during the stay in an hotel palace.

“Yes, yes,” he said, “I suppose so.  I wish you needn’t, though.”

“I shan’t mind.  A little housework is very simple; people make such a fuss about it; mother makes a horrible fuss.  I shall always wear gloves.”

“That partly solves it,” said Osborn nodding eagerly, “rubber gloves for wet work, and housemaid’s gloves for dry, eh, dearest?  You will always, won’t you?  You must let me buy you all the gloves you want.”

“I have enough to begin with.”

“You are a thoughtful little genius.”

“We’ll have to cook dinner to-night.”

“Oh, great work!” cried Osborn.

“I intend to run this flat in a thoroughly up-to-date way,” Marie explained; “that’s the secret of a comfortable household without help, you know—­to be entirely up-to-date.”

The husband looked immensely impressed.

“I believe you,” he said.

The clock struck five, and six, before they rose reluctantly.  It would have been rather nice, of course, just to press a bell and give one’s orders, but....

On her way to the kitchen, Marie peeped into the bedroom.  She switched up the light and looked it over, well pleased.  Soon, when she had unpacked, her dressing-table would be furnished with all her pretty things, tortoiseshell and silver, big glass powder-puff bowl, big glass bowl and spoon with scented salts for her bath, and the manicure set of super-luxury which a girl friend had given her on her marriage.  She was really adorably equipped; she was starting so very, very well.  Her glance fell upon the two beds, side by side, much-pillowed, pink-quilted.