“Never for me.”

“That’s rash.  People are caught—­oh! it’s the very devil to keep out of the net.”

“What will be the end of things?”

“What things?”

“Marie’s and Osborn’s.”

“My dear Miss Winter, you exaggerate.  They’ll shake down, and that’s all.”

“Will they be happy?”

“You’ll have to ask them that, later.  But, you see, I know Osborn Kerr, and he’ll make the best of it like other people.  I wish I could convince you.  Don’t distress yourself over the normal troubles of normal people.”

But Julia still worried on:  “She looked so white and tired to-day; she’d been carrying that great baby about round the shops, and she’s not strong yet.”

“Can’t the baby stay peaceably at home?”

“Then she’s got to stay too.  Where she goes the baby must go.  She’s given up going out at all except just for her marketing.”

“Well,” said Rokeby, rubbing his head, “I don’t know, I’m sure, what you or I can do.  We’d better leave it all alone.”

“If I hadn’t spent everything I had in the bank only yesterday for a new suit I’d send her a baby-carriage to-morrow.  It’ll be three weeks before I’ve put by enough again.”

“Don’t rob yourself,” said Rokeby quickly, with a softening face.  “Look here, let me know what happens, will you?”

“About the perambulator?”

“Ah!”

“Will you be fairy godfather, then?”

“If you’d like me to.”

“Oh, I would!  You—­you—­”

“What am I?”

“You dear!”

“’Rah!  ’Rah!” cried Rokeby, “shake hands on that!” She laid in his frankly a short and capable hand.  “I’m not a ‘him,’ am I?  Oh, say I’m not.”

“You’re not—­yet.  You’re a dear.”

“Am now, and ever shall be, world without end.  Amen.”

“Amen,” said Julia, twinkling.

“Here are peches melba,” said Rokeby, “women always like them.  I’m glad they’re on our programme to-night.”

“I adore them.”

“You might try to remember, before we leave the subject,” Rokeby suggested, “that the prospects of these ‘hims’ aren’t very rosy either sometimes.  You see it comes hard on a man, though doubtless he’s a black-hearted scoundrel to admit it, when he marries and has to stretch an income, which was perfectly palmy in the bachelor days, to meet the needs of two, or three, or however many it may ultimately have to meet.  He can’t help a yelp now and then.  It’s a horrid sound, but it relieves him.  The only remedy I can suggest for the existing state of affairs is that all wives of over a year’s standing should pack cotton wool in their ears.  Eh?  That’s brains, isn’t it?  Kindly applaud.”

“’M ...” said Julia, tightening her lips.

“Osborn entered marriage with the most exalted expectations,” Rokeby went on.

“So did Marie.”

“I assure you I never knew a chap more in love.”