again, ran along the corridor to her bedroom. She began to put her
hair up feverishly with shaking hands.

Osborn followed her quickly with the dressing-gown, beseeching: "Do
put it on! Do, Marie, do! You'll get cold. It's freezing."

"M-m-much you'd c-c-care," she sobbed.

"Oh, darling," said Osborn, wrapping the dressing-gown and his arms
tightly round her, "tell me! What is the matter? What have I done?
Aren't you happy, dearest?"

"Happy!" she gasped. "Why should I be happy?"

"I-I--love you, dearest," said Osborn in a tremulous voice.

"You g-go out, and every d-day it's the same for me. All day I'm
alone; and I loathe the work. Everything's always the same."

"I wish I could give you a change, sweetheart," said Osborn, terribly
harassed.

She hated herself because she could not be generous, but somehow she
could find no generous words to speak.

"Shall I stay with you this evening, Marie?"

"No. You've p-promised. And I'm not that sort; you t-t-told him so!"

"Is that all that's the matter, Marie? Because everything's always the