ay golf, or to run out into the country
with him in his two-seater. Once they took George because the nurse
was so firmly decided that they should do so, and they stayed out past
his bedtime, and tired him out, and made him furious.

"It's a gay life!" said Osborn to Rokeby, "a gay life, what?"

Marie sent the nurse away at the end of three weeks, and tackled her
increased household alone. She was unable to nurse the baby, and the
doctor ordered it to be fed upon the patent food which George used to
have, so she was obliged to ask Osborn to increase the housekeeping
allowance.

They discussed long and seriously the ways and means to the increase
and the amount of it. "Half a crown," was her reiteration; "on half a
crown I'd do it somehow."

And he asked: "Yes! But where's the half-crown to come from?"

"You must find it," she said at last.

With compressed lips and lowering brow the young man thought it out.
"I give you all I can--"

"And I take as little as I can."

"I'm sick of these discussions about money."

"So'm I."

"It seems as if we were sick of the whole thing, doesn't it?"

Being a woman, she dared not confirm verbally those reckless words;
their very recklessness caused her to fear. If they _were_ sick
of the whole thing--well, what about it? What were they to do? They
were in it, weren't they, up to their necks? Of two people who
mutually recognised the plight, only one must foam and rage and
stutter out unpalatable truths about it; it was for the other to pour
on the oil, to deceive and pretend and propitiate and cajole, to try
to keep things running and the creaking machinery at work.

Because--what else remained to do?

But when Osborn rapped out: "It seems as if we were sick of the whole
thing, doesn't it?" though she would not confirm this in words, her
silence confirmed it, her silence and her look. They made him hesitate
and catch his breath.

"Well?" he asked.

"I'm not going to say such things."

"But you know they're true, don't you?" he asked in despair.

"You ought to think, as I do, that the babies are worth it all."

"When two people begin telling each other what they _ought_ to
do, they're reaching the limit."

"You've often told me what I ought to do."

"I don't know what's coming to women."

"A revolution!"

"Rubbish!" said Osborn. "Women have no power to revolt, and no reason
either."

"It's true we've no power; that's what keeps most of us quiet."

"I wish