same?"

"I'm so tired. And ragged, somehow."

"Oh, Marie, I wish I could stay at home to-day and look after you.
You'll lie down and rest, won't you?"

"When I've finished all my charwoman's work."

Osborn was silent, biting his lips; and presently Marie looked up, and
seeing his face, drew it down and kissed him, crying: "Oh, I'm a
beast; forgive me! But I'm so tired, and somehow so--so ragged."

"Poor darling!"

"You'd better go and bathe, Osborn. We're late as it is."

"So we are, by Jove! Look, I'll be awf'ly quick this morning, and come
and help you. That'll be some good, won't it?"

She assented with sorrowful little sniffs, and he took his
perplexities away into the bathroom. He was terribly troubled, not
seeing what was to be done. What could a man do? Women's work, women's
lives, were the same all the world over--married women's, that is. One
couldn't do more than give them the best home one could, and come back
to it like a good boy early every evening, and love them very much. If
one were only rich! How money helped everything! Osborn cursed his
meagre pockets as heartily as Marie had cried over them.

Osborn hastened into his clothes and went to the kitchen. Bacon was