It was cold in the kitchen, very cold, when a fellow went out clad only in pyjamas, but Osborn briskly lighted that very superior gas-stove and put the super-kettle on.  It was extraordinary how completely they were equipped; there was even an extra little set for morning tea for two.  He made toast under the grill, with whose abilities he now felt really familiar, and furnished the tray.  He was glad he could have everything so pretty and cosy for Marie.  He would never be like some men he knew, utterly careless—­to all appearance at least—­as to how their wives fared.

He had his cold tub quickly, while the kettle boiled, and lighted the geyser in the bathroom for Marie.  What an awfully decent bathroom it was!

It was jolly sitting on the edge of Marie’s bed, drinking tea, and admiring her.  Fellows who weren’t married never really knew how pretty a girl could look.  Or at least they ought not.  Her nightdress beat any mere suit or frock simply hollow.

“Your bath’ll be ready when you are, pretty cat,” said Osborn, “and I’ve left the kettle on and made enough toast for breakfast.”

And Julia inferred that husbands were mere brutes!

Before Marie stepped out of bed, Osborn lighted the gas-fire in the bedroom; she mustn’t get cold.  She went into the bathroom, and he began to shave, in cold water.  As he shaved, he remembered—­Great Scott!

The dining-room fire.  The dining-room grate in ashes.

Wiping the lather hastily from his face, Osborn hastened out once more.  It was all right for her to put a match to a gas-fire, but ashes and coals ... he hadn’t thought of it.

He did the dining-room grate almost as successfully as a housemaid, cleared the debris, wondering where one put it, coaxed the fire to blaze and hurried back to dress.

Marie dressed, too.

“I’m not going to be a breakfast-wrapper woman,” she said, as she slid into her garments.  “They’re sluts, aren’t they?  I’m going to look as nice in the mornings as at any other part of the day.”

“Bravo, kiddie!” he cried admiringly.

There was still time in hand when both were dressed for the cooking of breakfast, but there seemed quite a lot of things to do yet; and they made rather a rush of them.  One couldn’t sit down to a meal in a dusty room, so one had to sweep and dust it.  And there was, undoubtedly, some trick about eggs and bacon which one had yet to learn.

How easily and quickly one would learn everything, though.  Method was the thing.

He asked her many times if she wouldn’t come into town and lunch, or have tea, and they would go home together; but she explained convincingly if mysteriously: 

“You see, dear, this first day, I’ll have to get straight,” and he went off alone.

Marie fell to work in the greatest spirits.  She was armoured with the rubber gloves and the housemaid’s gloves and a chic pinafore.  As she worked she sang.  Of course, a woman must have something to occupy a little of her day.  Marie hastened about these tasks cheerfully, and before she was through them her mother came.