ad come to her with the story....

_She had refused to listen_.

She had said: "Look here, boy! What do you mean by asking me out to
lunch and moping? I don't want to hear your troubles. There are plenty
of people here who'll amuse me without pulling long faces over
dropping a little cash."

She looked at him very coldly. In that moment he had suddenly thought
of another woman, a young bride, who, with tears of consternation and
sympathy in her eyes, had brought out an account-book and pencil and
said: "I'll get the gas out of the thirty shillings, too."

That was the kind of reception a man expected for his troubles. But
after Roselle had let him pay for their expensive lunch, she had
needed other things--perfume and candy. And she "borrowed" the rent of
her rooms from him for several weeks.

She went back to London two months ahead of him, having written for
and secured a moderately good engagement.

During the two months he missed her a little in the Runaway, where her
presence had secured for him an extra mark of distinction; but he had
rather the feeling of a man surfeited. He put it to himself in modern
slang: "I was fed up," he said. "She only wanted me to get the tickets
and look after her luggage, and turn up when I was wanted, and be a
kind of unpaid courier, while she travelled about getting experiences
and hunting for bigger fools than me. I'm about fed up."

Osborn was to stop in Paris for a week on his way back; it was a week
to which he had looked forward throughout the year. Paris and expenses
practically unlimited! How gay it sounded! What visions it conjured
up! But the week was a failure as far as pleasure went, though
business was brisk. For Osborn over all the pleasures of Paris there
was a frost. It was restless and light and bright, and all this living
in hotels and cafes wasn't worth while. He wanted at last, very badly,
to be at home again.

He half thought of wiring to Marie to join him. How surprised and
delighted and excited she'd be! But how would she arrange about the
kids? She couldn't come, of course.

Besides, there was an inimitable pleasure in picturing oneself
entering the flat and finding her there just the same as ever.

Home was essentially the place to look for one's wife.

Osborn did not know Paris with any intimacy. A week-end had been his
limit hitherto. So he went to the Bon Marche to look for a gift for
Marie, not knowing where else to look, and he bought her any