"Lovely, mother. I lunched by myself at the Royal Red, and watched the people. Then I had my fingers manicured, and went to tell Mr. Rokeby about Osborn, and had such a nice tea in his office; he's got such a pretty office. Then he took me to Julia's flat, and we three had dinner together. Oh! we were jolly. Mr. Rokeby cooked; how we laughed! Julia made him wear one of her aprons, and I made him the sweetest cook-cap you ever saw. I don't know when I've enjoyed myself so much." "He's a nice man," said Grannie approvingly; "I wonder if he's thinking of marrying Miss Winter?" "Mother, your head always runs on somebody marrying somebody else." "Well, duck, I'm an old woman, and in my long life I've noticed that they always do." "Julia hates men." "I don't believe it, my love." Marie went into her dining-room and looked around it with a new sense of authority; she was now a complete law unto that room and all in it. "I've got a cup of soup for you here, dear," said Grannie Amber, bustling to the fireplace. "Mother, you shouldn't trouble yourself! But how nice it is!" She drank gratefully, then put the usual question with the usual anxiety: "Babes been well? And good?" "They've been lambs," said Grannie warmly. "What a pity I folded up Osborn's bed, and put it in the children's room! You could have slept here to-night, mother." "My duck, I'd rather sleep in my own bed," said the old lady, "and I'll be putting my things on, and going there now. You have the woman coming in the morning?" "Yes--and every morning." Mrs. Amber nodded approvingly. "You'll be very comfortable now, love." Then she muffled herself in her wraps and went out bravely into the cold towards the old-fashioned flat across the Heath; and Marie, undressing, went to her bed, too. How still it was! The tiny breaths of the baby scarce stirred the immediate air. Where would Osborn be now? CHAPTER XVIII INTRIGUE Osborn passed that first night at the best hotel in Liverpool. The term "expenses" provided for the best, in reason, of everything; and a good man at his job need not be afraid of making claims. Osborn was going to be a very good man at his job and, somehow, without any undue swelling of the head, he knew it. His chance had come, the big chance which had laid poor Woodall low, and sent him up, up, rejoicing. When they carried his rather goodlooking luggage--which he had bought new for his honeymoon--into a palatial bedroom of the Liverpool hotel, he experienced, only with a thousand degrees more conviction, that sense of freedom from care which his wife was even then timidly grasping, far away in London. He was provided for handsomely and agreeably for three hundred and sixty-five days.