conditions.

She was the victim of the pretty and glossy storybook, the sentimental
play, and of a light education. None of these things had prepared her
for the realities she was undergoing; the story-book ended glossily
with the marriage and happy expectations of a wonder-struck young
couple. In book and play the heavenly child simply happened; no one
felt miserably sick, ferociously irritable, or despairingly weary
because of its coming. There had been no part of her education which
had warned her of natural contingencies. She now saw that for her
blessing she must pay, and pay heavily maybe, with her body.

She argued with herself a little fractiously on the escape of men.
They had children without suffering; marriage without tears. Was it
fair? Oh, was it in any sense equal or fair?

* * * * *

The little clock struck 6.30. Osborn was due, and dinner not yet
preparing. Marie ran to the kitchen. "Goodness!" she said to herself,
"it's endless! Life's nothing but getting meals. Is eating worth
while?" She hurried around the flat till she was tired again, but
hasten as she might, Osborn arrived before the cooking was done.

She was changing her gown when he appeared at the door of their room;
she had not yet lowered the standard she had set for the ever-dainty
wife prepared to charm her lord.

"Hallo, kiddie!" said Osborn, his voice rather tired. "I'm awf'ly
hungry. Had a quick lunch. Is dinner ready?"