"Now say good night," said she softly, "say good night. Good-bye, Mr. Rokeby, and we shall see you again a week to-day?" "A week to-day." The two men went out and down the stairs into the street. Rokeby had his air of good-humoured and invincible patience and Osborn dreamed. "I'll see you right home," said Rokeby. "And you'll come in, and have a drink." "Thanks. Perhaps I will. Haven't _you_ got a trousseau to show me?" "Get out, you fool!" "What do chaps feel like, I wonder," said Rokeby, "when the day of judgment is so near?" "I shan't tell you, you damned scoffer!" "Well, well," said Rokeby, "I've seen lots of nice fellows go under this same way. It always makes me very sorry. I do all I can in the way of preventive measures, but it's never any good, and there's no cure. Ab-so-lutely none. There's no real luck in the business, either, as far as I've seen, though of course some are luckier than others." "Did you mention luck?" Osborn exclaimed, from his dream. "Don't you think I'm lucky? I say, Desmond, old thing, don't you think I'm one of the most astonishingly lucky fellows on God's earth?" "You ought to know." "Oh, come off that silly pedestal of pretence. Cynicism's rotten. Marriage is the only life." "'Never for me!'" Rokeby quoted Julia. "Awful girl!" said Osborn, referring to her briefly. "'Orrid female. What?" "Very handsome," said Rokeby. "Handsome! I've never seen it. She's not to be compared to Marie, anyway. You haven't answered my question. Don't you think I'm lucky?" "Yes, you are," replied Rokeby sincerely, turning to look at him, "for any man to be as happy as you seem to be even for five minutes is a great big slice of luck to be remembered." "Marie's a wonderful girl. She can do absolutely anything, I believe. It seems incredible that a girl with hands like hers can cook and sew, but she can. Isn't it a wonder?" "It sounds ripping." They walked on in silence, Osborn back up in his clouds. At last he awaked to say: "Well, here we are. You'll come in?" "Shall I?" "Do. I shan't have so many more evenings of--" "Freedom--" "--Of loneliness, confound you! Come in!" Rokeby followed him into his rooms, on the second floor. A good fire was burning, but they were just bachelor rooms full of hired--and cheap--furniture. As Osborn cast off his overcoat and took Rokeby's, he glanced around expressively. "You should see the flat. You _will_ see it soon. All Marie's arrangement, and absolutely charming." "Thanks awfully. I'll be your first caller." "Well, don't forget it. What'll you have?" "Whiskey, please." "So'll I."