"I don't know. I think they give each other all they've got in a great big lump too soon. But I don't know; how should I?" "I wonder if I could tell you. _I_ think it's because a man carefully robs a woman of all power to have any interest outside her home; but at the same time he votes her home interests too dull to talk about." "Married life!" said Rokeby quizzically. "But there are beautiful things in it; children, you know. I shouldn't have said what I did." They let a silence elapse as if to swallow up the memory of the things Marie shouldn't have said, and after it he asked: "What time shall we go?" At six o'clock they were speeding down Cannon Street, along the Strand, and the gaudier thoroughfares of the West, in a taxicab, to Julia's flat. Her delight at seeing Marie was obvious, but a veil of reserve seemed to drop over her vivid, strong face when she saw who escorted her. Rokeby would not take leave of Marie on the threshold, though; he followed her in and sat down, asking if he might stay. There was about him an air of smiling determination, and his eyes obstinately sought Julia's, which as obstinately avoided his. She began to chatter, as if to slur over a momentary confusion. "I've only been in ten minutes, and I was going to settle down to a lonely evening. I'm awf'ly glad to have you, Marie darling. If Mr. Rokeby's going to stay he'll have to be useful. I'm afraid you find me almost déshabillée, but I'm one of these sloppy bachelors, as you know." But Julia had a taut way of putting on even a silk kimono, and she could not have been sloppy had she tried; her lines were too fine and clean. The two women went away to Julia's bedroom, a little box like a furnisher's model, and there Julia gleaned Marie's news. But far from giving unmitigated sympathy, she was almost crudely congratulatory. "It's what most wives of your standing want badly. A year off. A year to go to some theatres, to find their own minds again; to look after their wardrobes, and thread all the ribbons in their cammies that they've been too busy to thread for ages. It's no good coming to me for pity. I'm not sorry for you." "I--I'm not sure that I want you to be. I see what you mean. But--" "But?" "Last night, when I knew, I was just heartbroken. I don't know when I've cried as I did. For a while I thought I'd just have to die." "You won't die. You'll renovate yourself; you'll get new feathers, like a bird in spring." Marie looked slowly at Julia. "I know." Julia began to smile, first a smile of inquiry, then of delight. "'Rah! 'rah!" she screamed softly; "we'll have Marie pretty again." Marie took off her hat and coat and began to fluff her crushed hair. "See my grey hairs, though, Julia?" "They're nothing." "My teeth, of course, haven't been touched since I was married. I don't know if I'll be able to afford that, but I'll try." "Marie," said Julia, at an inexplicable tangent, "for heaven's sake why bring Desmond Rokeby here?"