stealthily diverted to this delicious end.

The clock struck eleven; for some while now Marie had ceased to notice
how musical was its sound, as compared with other people's clocks, but
to-night she noticed it anew. It was like little silver bells pealing;
there ought to be birth-bells as well as wedding-bells.

Osborn was late, but Marie waited up for him, untired. She mended the
fire, for he might come in cold, and they were not going to bed yet.
No! They must sit and discuss next September. How would Osborn receive
the news? What did men really think about these things? It was
impossible they could feel the full measure of women's gladness, but
in part, surely, they shared it?

At twelve Osborn came in, fresh and pink from the cold outside, with a
hilarious eye, and a flavour of good whisky on his breath. He was in
great spirits and could have ragged a judge. But as he took off coat
and muffler in the hall, displaying himself in dinner clothes, there
came creeping out to him from the dining-room, softly as a mouse, but
with eyes bright as all the moon and stars, his wife. She had about
her an air of lovely mystery, about which Osborn was still too jolly
to concern himself. But she looked so beautiful that he caught her to
him, and kissed her many times.

"You ripping little kid!" he said fondly, "have you waited up for me?
Or have you only just got in?"

"I waited up for you, dear."

"Is there a fire?" asked Osborn.