He stepped past her, staring somewhat, and the hall porter followed into the hall with the luggage. The sitting-room door opened and Marie came out. As she came towards her husband she motioned the hall porter to put the bags in the dressing-room. There was about her an assurance and authority, very quiet, but undeniable. "Here you are, Osborn," she said. "Hallo, dear!" he answered, rather stammeringly. "How are you? How are the--" The maid took from him the overcoat which he was shedding, and his wife retreated into the sitting-room, he following. When the door was shut, she turned, lifted her face, and murmured: "How are you, Osborn?" He kissed her and, loth to relinquish her, kept his arm about her waist; she was unresponsive, but he did not notice that; they went together to the chesterfield drawn up before the fire and sat down. She took a corner, turning herself to face him a little, so that he had to withdraw his arm from her, and she pushed a billowing cushion which he did not remember into a comfortable position for her back. She spoke very kindly and sympathetically, but it was with the kindness and sympathy which someone who was a stranger might show. "How well you look! I'm longing to hear all about your doings; your letters did not say very much. I should have met you at Victoria, only there's always a crush, and it's easy to miss people, so I thought I'd stay here." "I didn't suppose you could leave the children to meet me." "Oh, I can leave them quite well with Ann." One of those silences which fall between people who have been estranged fell between them, during which he looked from her to the room, and all about him, and back to her, while she regarded him with that disinterested kindness. "How nice everything looks!" he said, breaking the silence in a voice which sounded crude to himself. "What a lot of flowers you have, and all these cushions! I don't remember things, as a woman would do, but surely there's something new." "Only the cushions. I stuffed a lot with one of mother's feather beds. She left me everything, you know." "Yes. You didn't say much about it." "No. The flowers _are_ nice, aren't they? I love flowers." "So you do," he exclaimed suddenly. "I wish I'd brought you some; there are such lovely ones at Victoria." His wife smiled. "But I've brought you something I hope you'll like as well." "Have you, you dear kind person?" He took her hand and drew nearer. "Marie, darling, it's awf'ly good to see you again. This last week in Paris seemed such waste of time, with you so near." She looked at him with her eyes widening, a trick he found vivid in his memory. A little more colour rose into her cheeks. "Don't you want to see the children?" she asked, "or do you want tea first?" "I have an idea I want you. But--where are they?" "In the dining-room. George will be back from school directly." "School?" "Yes, school."