They sat down and looked at each other. "I think it is lovely to be at home," said Marie. "There's a comfort about one's own place," Osborn answered, "that you don't get anywhere else." The hall-porter had even wound up the clocks, which Mrs. Amber and Julia had brought, among other wedding presents, a day or two before, and now four strokes sounded from a silvery-voiced pet of a timepiece on the mantelshelf. The owners looked at it, arrested and pleased. "It is really the prettiest clock I have ever seen," said Marie. "I like the tone," said Osborn, "I can't bear a harsh clock. Darling, that's four. You want tea. I'll get it." "We'll both get it." "But you're tired with travelling, pretty cat. You'll just sit there and I'll take your boots off and unpack your slippers; and I'll make your tea." Marie let Osborn do all this, and he enjoyed his activity for her sake as much as she enjoyed her inactivity. He unpinned her hat, took off her coat as a nurse removes a child's coat, kneeled down to unlace her boots, kissed each slim instep, and carried all the things neatly away to their bedroom. Joyfully he unlocked the suit-case where he knew her slippers reposed, for had he not packed them himself, for her, that morning? He returned to the sitting-room and put them on. "Mrs. Osborn Kerr at home!" he cried, standing to look down upon her. "I do want my tea!" said Marie. "I'll get it now, darling. You sit still. I adore waiting upon you," said Osborn, hurrying away. It was fine to be in his own place, with his own wife, with the world shut out and snubbed. As Osborn strode along the short and narrow corridor to the kitchen he admired everything he saw. He confirmed his own good taste and Marie's. The cream walls with black and white etchings--more wedding presents--upon them, and the strip of plain rose felt along the floor, could not be bettered. The kitchen was a spotless little place, up-to-date in the matter of cupboards. Everything was as up-to-date as he and Marie were. There was nothing equal to this fresh and modern comfort. Osborn looked in a cupboard and there he saw foods, enough to begin on, placed there by the thoughtful Mrs. Amber. Upon the kitchen table was a furnished tea-tray, the one woman knowing by instinct what the other woman would first require after her day's journey. Osborn lighted one of the jets of the gas-stove. What a neat stove! A kettle was handy. What a 'cute kettle! Aluminium, wasn't it? None of those common tin things. He filled the kettle from a tap which was a great improvement on any tap which he had ever seen. They were all his own. He cut bread-and-butter. He lighted the grill of the gas-stove and made toast. They had a handsome hot-toast dish. He hunted for sugary dainties such as Marie loved. Mrs. Amber had provided them in a tin. He arranged them with thought and care. Wasn't there any cream for his love? There was a tin of it. He emptied the cream out lavishly.