of a spoon against the bottle, so that Osborn began to mutter
drowsily: "Hang that row!" and she longed to scream at him, "It's
_your_ baby, isn't it, as well as mine?"

Osborn was unused to and intolerant of domestic discomforts such as
these; in the nights his nerves were frayed; at the breakfast-table he
showed it: "You look tired to death, and I'm sure I am," he grumbled.
"If this is marriage, give me single blessedness every time. Worry and
expense! Expense and worry! Such is life!"

In the evenings she was very subdued; she was losing her life and
light; he did not know that during the day, after such display of his
irritation, she cried herself sick. He asked her to come out to dinner
one evening; he said:

"You and I are getting two old mopes. Look here, girlie, put on your
best frock, and come and dine at Pagani's; I can't afford it, but
we'll do it."

But she could not.

"Baby," she said, hesitating.

Osborn looked at her in silence. "Good heavens!" he exclaimed, after a
while, "aren't we ever to have our evenings out, then? Shall you
always be tied here now?"

"A baby ties one," she replied.

"So it does, doesn't it?" said Osborn despondently.