other woman would first require after her day's journey. Osborn
lighted one of the jets of the gas-stove. What a neat stove! A kettle
was handy. What a 'cute kettle! Aluminium, wasn't it? None of those
common tin things. He filled the kettle from a tap which was a great
improvement on any tap which he had ever seen.

They were all his own.

He cut bread-and-butter.

He lighted the grill of the gas-stove and made toast. They had a
handsome hot-toast dish.

He hunted for sugary dainties such as Marie loved. Mrs. Amber had
provided them in a tin. He arranged them with thought and care.

Wasn't there any cream for his love? There was a tin of it. He emptied
the cream out lavishly.

All the while the petted bride rested by the fire in her little chintz
room. Life had petted her, her employers had wanted to, and her mother
had petted her, but never had she revelled in such supreme petting as
the last fortnight's.

Where did all these fierce, man-hating young women whom one met quite
often get their ideas from? If only they knew, if only they could be
told, could be forced to open their eyes and see, how perfect the
right sort of marriage really was!

Why, a man, poor dear, was abject! A girl had things all her own way.