at last
Julia left, Marie still sat there hoping and planning, thinking of
this perfect flat with a baby in it, and longing for Osborn's return
to share the unparalleled news.

She had seen little, intimately, of babies; in the streets and parks
she met them, and said: "What sweets! What precious things!" And she
had thought more than once how beautiful it would be to own one,
sitting in its well-built perambulator with the clean white lacy
covers and cushions, and the starched nurse primly wheeling it.

There would be knitting to do, too; endless shawls, swallowing up
pounds of the best white wool; and fleecy boots and caps and vests.
When the next housekeeping allowance was paid, some of it should be
stealthily diverted to this delicious end.

The clock struck eleven; for some while now Marie had ceased to notice
how musical was its sound, as compared with other people's clocks, but
to-night she noticed it anew. It was like little silver bells pealing;
there ought to be birth-bells as well as wedding-bells.

Osborn was late, but Marie waited up for him, untired. She mended the
fire, for he might come in cold, and they were not going to bed yet.
No! They must sit and discuss next September. How would Osborn receive
the news? What did men really think about these things? It was
impossible they could feel the full measure of women's gladness, but
in part, surely, they shared it?

At twelve Osborn came in, fresh and pink from the cold outside, with a
hilarious eye, and a flavour of good whisky on his breath. He was in
great spirits and could have ragged a judge. But as he took off coat
and muffler in the hall, displaying himself in dinner clothes, there
came creeping out to him from the dining-room, softly as a mouse, but
with eyes bright as all the moon and stars, his wife. She had about
her an air of lovely mystery, about which Osborn was still too jolly
to concern himself. But she looked so beautiful that he caught her to
him, and kissed her many times.

"You ripping little kid!" he said fondly, "have you waited up for me?
Or have you only just got in?"

"I waited up for you, dear."

"Is there a fire?" asked Osborn.

"A good one."

They went into the dining-room and sat down, Osborn in his chair, she
on the hearthrug beside him, and she let him tell his story first, so
that afterwards all his attention should be rapt on hers. He said
gaily: "I've had a ripping evening. Desmond was in his very best form,