"Oh, we've both got to work," added Fitzgerald.
He didn't say he was sorry Marna had to slave with her little white hands, or that he realized that he was doing a bold--perhaps an impious--thing in snatching a woman from her service to art to go into service for him. Evidently he didn't think that way. Neither minded any sacrifice apparently. The whole of it was, they were together. Suddenly, they seemed to forget Kate. They stood gazing at each other as if their sense of possession overwhelmed them. Kate felt something like angry resentment stir in her. How dared they, when she was so alone, so weary, so homeless?
"Will you stay to dinner with me?" she asked with something like asperity.
"To dinner?" they murmured in vague chorus. "No, thanks."
"But where do you intend to have dinner?"
"We--we haven't thought," confessed Marna.
"Oh, anywhere," declared Fitzgerald.
Marna rose and her husband buttoned her coat about her.
They smiled at Kate seraphically, and she saw that they wanted to be alone, and that it made little difference to them whether they were sitting in a warm room or walking the windy streets. She kissed them both, with tears, and said:--
"God bless you."