“Dunno, old girl,” said Osborn.

“That dear darling Mr. Rokeby has sent us the most gorgeous baby-carriage.”

“The devil he has!” said Osborn, with deep feeling, straightening his shoulders as if a burden had been lifted from them.

“It’s down in the lobby with the other prams; you must go down and see it.”

“I will after dinner.  By Jove, that’s good of Rokeby!  I wonder what made him think of it.”

“I can’t imagine; he is thoughtful, isn’t he?”

“What’s it like?”

“It’s pale grey, with ball bearings; and C-springs, and an umbrella basket.  There’s no enamel; it’s all nickel.  And the upholstery....”

“By Jove, Desmond’s done the youngster proud, what?”

“We couldn’t possibly have bought such a carriage for him, Osborn!”

Osborn began to feel flattered as well as pleased.  He had always noticed, of course, the very particular attraction and beauty and the early cleverness of his son, but he had not guessed that the little beggar had so impressed that confirmed bachelor.

“Rokeby thinks no end of the kid, you know,” he said, sitting down to the table.

“That’s not to be wondered at, is it?” replied the enthusiastic mother.

Osborn caught her hand as she passed by him and kissed it.

“I’ve been thinking about you—­about us—­to-day,” he confided.

“Have you?” she said timidly.

“We—­we were both,” Osborn hesitated, “both a bit—­mad last night, weren’t we?”

He pressed her hand before he relinquished it so that she might proceed to the kitchen to dish up the dinner.  And she went with a lighter heart because of his affection.

Opposite him, beneath the candles which she still lighted with pleasure each night, she regarded him with a new earnestness.  The quarrel was over, it seemed; but it had opened for her a door through which she had never passed before, the door into the darkness of human hearts, and she felt as if she would never forget that horrific step across the unveiled threshold.  She watched Osborn steadily yet unobtrusively while his mind was given to the meal; she saw him eat with a great hunger, and the rather tired look which had marked his face when he first came in disappeared as he ate.  Men who perforce eat lunch very frugally look forward keenly to a good meal, and Osborn had no eyes or words for Marie until the edge of his appetite was satisfied.  She did not yet understand this very well; she was inclined to a slight resentment in his absorption with his dinner to the exclusion of herself.  But she did not interrupt him by chatter; she just sat there quietly observing until he should be ready for more conversation.

Presently she brought his coffee round to his side, and he lighted a cigarette with a sigh of satisfaction.  He appreciated, indefinitely, her gift of silence when a man came in sharpset for dinner; he had spent a day among busy men, talking all the time, and he did not wish to talk any more.  After all, a man came home for quiet.