girl's few serious moments? In spite of Julia, all would be easy and
sweet. In a kimono and one of those pink caps one could cook a
breakfast without soiling one's fingers. Osborn would like to see his
wife look beautiful behind the coffeepot. She would manage splendidly.
The income, of course, would seem small to some women, muddleheads, but
she _could_ manage. She could make the most darling clothes, bake
cakes like a confectioner's. Osborn would be surprised.

She must have a pink pinafore, a smocked one.

What would it be like, the first few days together?

"Come and sit down," Osborn begged, and he drew her to the one big
chair, into which they both squeezed. "I love you," he said, "oh, I
_do_ love you! And we can trust old Rokeby to look after your
mother and Julia. What a terror the girl is!"

"She hates men," said Marie, with a pouting mouth.

"Then they will hate her and I don't wonder," the young man replied
scornfully.

"Don't let us talk about Julia."

"No, let's talk about us. I bought the clock, darling."

"The clock! Did they knock down the price?"

"No, they didn't," said Osborn, "but you wanted it and that was good
enough for me."