How queer women's lives were!

What did men really think regarding their wives? What did Osborn
think, sitting there in his accustomed chair, with his accustomed pipe
between his teeth and his new and gorgeous plans causing his eyes to
shine?

She knew now the wherefore of his eyes shining. He was looking out at
a wonderful adventure; at freedom.

Freedom!

What right had he to freedom?

She turned to him with a remark so abrupt that it was exclamatory:

"It will be a good holiday for you."

"Great!" he answered, his satisfaction bursting forth, "great!"

"I wish I could come with you."

"Ah," he said, "ah!..." She watched him with a knifelike keenness
while he reflected, and she read the stealthy gratification of the
thought he voiced next: "But you can't, old girl There are the
kiddies."

"Do you suppose I don't know that?"

"Oh, well; I knew you were only joking."

Joking?

What a joke!

"I shall try to save a bit of money for the first time in my life," he
said. "I'll leave you a clear two hundred for yourself and the
kids--that's all right, isn't it? Two hundred, and you won't have my
enormous appetite to cater for! You'll do very well, won't you, Mrs.
Osborn?"

"Thank you. We shall do quite well."

"I'll arrange at the bank, and give you a chequebook."

She said next:

"A whole year! Baby'll forget you."

The remark seemed to him peculiarly womanish and silly. What on earth
did it matter, anyway? But he had patience with her, knowing how
sorely better men than he were tried by their wives.

"Well," he observed, "kids' memories are very short, aren't they?"

Marie went on sorting the clothes; presently she drew a chair to the
table, and began to work with needle and thread, darning, tightening
buttons, performing the many jobs which only a wife would find. As she
sewed she glanced again and again at her husband; he had sunk deep
into his chair in an abandonment of rest, his legs stretched before
him, his pipe between his teeth, his shining eyes fixed upon the fire.
Now and again his lips twitched to a smile over the pipe stem. He was
thinking, imagining, revelling in the freedom of the approaching year.
The marriage task had infinitely wearied him. For a year, with a
well-lined pocket, and a first-class ticket, he was to travel away
from it all. He was deeply allured, and his delight was again young
and robust; he looked forward most eagerly, as a school-boy to a
promising holiday.