Secretly and sweetly Marie smiled over Osborn's devotion.

As she smiled, looking tender and lovely, in the firelight, the door
opened, and Osborn came in, perilously balancing his tray on one hand
like a waiter. He meant her to laugh at his dexterity; he felt a
first-class drawing-room comedian with his domestic attainments. Over
one arm he had slung a brand-new teacloth. He intoned unctuously:

"I think I have all you want, madam."

Marie laughed as Osborn wanted her to do.

"Sit still," he urged, "I'll arrange it all. The toast in the fender;
the cloth on the table; the tray on the cloth. I understand
everything. See, Mrs. Kerr? You won't be the only know-all in this
establishment."

Then he waited upon her; but he let her pour out the tea, because he
wanted to see her do it, in her own home, for the first time. The
situation thrilled both, after a fortnight of thrills.

"I wish Desmond could see us now!" said Osborn.

"I wish Julia could."

"I think we should convert 'em."

Osborn sat on the hearthrug with shoulders against Marie's knees. One
of her hands stole round his neck and he held it there; he knew it was
the softest small hand in the world; he had no misgivings about it and