various perfections,
each over its ring of flame, she was absorbed in wondering:

"It _is_ I who am right? It's I who have the harder time? It's
the woman upon whom everything falls? But can't it all be put right
somehow? Couldn't I make him see?"

Something definite emerged from her prospecting, at least; the resolve
to seek an understanding with Osborn, not now, over breakfast with its
time-limit and its haste, but perhaps to-night, after dinner, when
he'd come in, and been fed and rested, and had put on his warm
slippers. She faced Osborn over the breakfast-table with a brightness
which he was relieved to see; but after he had noted it with inward
approval, he hid himself behind his newspaper; he wanted to say
little; to get away very, very quietly.

He had known many men who had to fly before the domestic sirocco; he
had laughed at and despised them in his heart. But--poor beggars! No
doubt they had hidden themselves behind newspapers with a child-like
faith in the impenetrability of the shield, even as he was hiding.

Poor beggars!

It was no better than the ostrich habit of tucking your head into the
sand, to crowd yourself behind your morning paper. You felt awfully
nervy behind it, and you kept a scowl handy. There was something in
the tension which made you bolt your good food quickly, indifferent as
your lunch would be presently, and which made you glad when you were
ready to rise, and remark with a forced _bonhomie_:

"Well, so long, girlie! I must be off."

Marie followed Osborn out into the narrow hall, where now faint daubs
marked the cream distemper, and helped him on with his coat, and found
his gloves and muffler. "It's cold, dear," she said solicitously,
"wrap up well."

"Oh, that's all right! Take care of yourself and baby. Good-bye!"

He stooped and kissed her lips quickly, avoiding her eyes, and went
out whistling. A forlornness overtook her; she ran back through the
dining-room to the window, and, leaning out, watched for him to emerge
from the doorway below; when he came, and started down the street
towards the tramcar terminus, she made ready to wave as she used to do
should he look up.

But he did not look up, as he strode purposefully away. A few months
ago he would have lagged a little, glancing up and waving frequently
before he finally disappeared. This morning as she watched the thought
smote: "When did he forget to wave to me? When did we leave off--all
this?"

She remembere