its tasks. The hour seemed ineffably rosy.

"And to-morrow," he stated, "I go back to work."

"My poor boy," said Marie, "and I shan't work any more."

"Thank heaven, no." Osborn kissed the hand he held.

"This must always stay as soft as rose-leaves," he said fondly.

"You may count on my doing my best for it," said Marie laughing, "I
like nice hands. No woman can look well-dressed without nicely-kept
hands. And that reminds me, Osborn, I want some more cream for my
nails--cuticle-cream it's called. Any good cuticle-cream will do."

He hastened to jot it down in a notebook. His first little commission
for his wife! For Miss Amber there had been many, but this was almost
epoch-making as being for Mrs. Osborn Kerr. "I'll get it in the
dinner-hour, or on my way home. Can't you think of anything else you
want?"

"I have everything else."

"You always shall have."

"What was the kitchen like?" Marie asked. "Was it tidy?"

"It's the smartest little place."

"I'll see it presently, when we wash-up."