Marie descended daintily and crossed the street to the two men. Her
hair gleamed and her feet were so light that she seemed to dance like
a shaft of sunshine. At the moment she was a queen, as every pretty
girl is at moments, with two subjects ready to obey.

Rokeby greeted her smilingly with admiration. "Mrs. Kerr, Osborn talks
of no one but you all day. He was in the midst of a song like
Solomon's, only modernised, when that chariot of yours bore down upon
him and cut it short. How are you? But I needn't ask. And when may I
call?"

"Oh, sometime, old man! We'll fix a day," said Osborn, signalling to a
taxicab. He jumped in after his wife, and Rokeby went on his way good
humouredly. "The perfect deluded ass!" he thought, "and may the dear
chap ever remain so!"

Osborn explained to Marie. "He needn't call _yet_. I'm hanged if
he's going to come around the loveliest girl in town in the
afternoons, when her lawful husband isn't in; and I'm equally hanged
if he's going to break in upon one of our very own evenings. So as all
the evenings are our very own, there's nothing to be done about it, is
there? What do you say, Mrs. Osborn Kerr?"

"We don't want anyone else," said Marie.

"You do look sweet," Osborn cried, "I want all the world to see me
with you. So where'll we go? Where's the place where all the world
goes?"