She took a sip of coffee, and said, very slowly and very clearly:
"Mrs.—Van—Osten."
"No—not that name," he said. "Your own name—your little name——"
There was a slight noise in the hall, and the outer door closed. Mrs. Van Osten heard it, and answered Aldo quickly with excited eyes.
"Marjory," she said.
Aldo bent forward over his coffee-cup. "Marjory?" he repeated softly.
It succeeded. It succeeded far better than he had expected, or than it usually did.
"Say it again!" she said quickly. "I like to hear it. Say it again. Quick!"
"Marjory!" exclaimed Aldo, bending nearer, just as the door opened and her husband came in.
She turned to him at once. "Oh, Bertie! You have come back?" and she laughed. Aldo looked at her. There was something in her voice and in her laugh that he knew. He had heard it in women's voices before. It was love. And love was in her eyes as she raised them to her husband's frowning face.