bedroom; she mustn't get cold. She went into the bathroom, and he
began to shave, in cold water. As he shaved, he remembered--Great
Scott!

The dining-room fire. The dining-room grate in ashes.

Wiping the lather hastily from his face, Osborn hastened out once
more. It was all right for her to put a match to a gas-fire, but ashes
and coals ... he hadn't thought of it.

He did the dining-room grate almost as successfully as a housemaid,
cleared the debris, wondering where one put it, coaxed the fire to
blaze and hurried back to dress.

Marie dressed, too.

"I'm not going to be a breakfast-wrapper woman," she said, as she slid
into her garments. "They're sluts, aren't they? I'm going to look as
nice in the mornings as at any other part of the day."

"Bravo, kiddie!" he cried admiringly.

There was still time in hand when both were dressed for the cooking of
breakfast, but there seemed quite a lot of things to do yet; and they
made rather a rush of them. One couldn't sit down to a meal in a dusty
room, so one had to sweep and dust it. And there was, undoubtedly,
some trick about eggs and bacon which one had yet to learn.

How easily and quickly one would learn everything, though. Method was
the thing.