“I see that.  They’re delicious.”  She broke one slowly between her teeth.  Sweets!  They brought back those dear old spoiled-girl days to her; precious days which no woman values till she has lost them, and the prize of which no man understands.

“Glad you like them,” he said, looking at her with a strange, an almost guilty softness.  “I like you to have things that you enjoy.  You know that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, dear.”

Osborn cleared his throat and leaned forward again, his clasped hands between his knees.  He looked down at the hands attentively, appearing to take an undue interest in them.

He began slowly: 

“Er—­speaking of things you’d enjoy, old girl, we—­we’ve often talked about—­wondered when—­my ship would be coming in.  Grand to see her, wouldn’t it be, steaming into harbour, fine as paint, full cargo and all?”

He choked slightly over his words, as with excitement, and that shining in his eyes intensified.  She caught it as for a moment he lifted them, and it took her breath away, but in the same instant she knew that this shining was not for her.

“Osborn!” she uttered, and could say no more.

He continued:  “I’ve got something to tell you.”

“I felt it when you first came in.  Oh, Osborn, darling, don’t keep me waiting.  What is it?”

“Well—­in a way—­it’s what we’ve both been thinking of—­”

“The ship’s—­come in!”

As she breathed rather than spoke the words she sank back in her chair; her conviction was so sure that she could have shrieked with ecstasy; yet at the same time it came with such an overpowering relief that she had the sensation of one kept too long from sleep lying down at last to rest.  She would have been content to wait, until after a long dreamful contemplation of the news, for detail and description of the voyage and adventure of the most elusive craft in the world, only that, once off, Osborn plunged on as if he would have her know all as soon as might be.

He started again, with scarcely a pause, after just a nod to confirm her exclamation.

“I’ll begin at the beginning.  That’s the best way, eh, old girl?  I see it’s staggered you as it staggered me.  Woodall—­you’ve heard me speak of Woodall, one of our travellers?—­was just about to start for a long trip—­New York, Chicago, then Montreal and all over Canada, California, then New Zealand; it was a fine trip, selling our Runaway two-seater.  Well, when I got to our place this morning the boss sent for me at once, and told me the news about poor old Woodall—­knocked down by a taxi in the street last night, and now in hospital for they don’t know how long.  The tickets were bought and the tour arranged, and—­and—­in short, you see, they’d got to pick another man at a moment’s notice, to go instead.  And so—­”

The wife leaned forward, her eyes opened wide and warily on her husband’s face.  Not looking at her, he rattled on: