Presently she brought his coffee round to his side, and he lighted a cigarette with a sigh of satisfaction. He appreciated, indefinitely, her gift of silence when a man came in sharpset for dinner; he had spent a day among busy men, talking all the time, and he did not wish to talk any more. After all, a man came home for quiet.
Marie had spent the day alone with the baby. There had been no voice save her singing one uplifted in the flat since early morning; she wanted to sit with Osborn by the fire in their dear old way, and to talk and talk; and to hear him talk. After all, was not the companionable evening the time for which the lonely household woman lived through her silent day?
She brought her coffee to a place near him and sat down there.
"Osborn," she said, "I was awf'ly hurt that you were so angry last night. I do want you to see that it isn't my fault."
He looked at her rather appealingly. "Let's chuck it," he suggested.
"If you will only understand! I don't believe men think; but if you would think over it for just a few minutes, dear old boy, you'd know that I'm just as careful as a woman can be. You used to give me thirty shillings a week for the housekeeping before we had baby; and I've never asked you for any more since, have I? And his food's awf'ly expensive too. I manage on just the same, Osborn."
"Yes, yes," he said, moving uneasily, "but where's all this leading? I mean—"
"It isn't leading anywhere. I only wanted you to see that I can't help anything."
After a pause, with a little line between his brows, he said:
"No, I know you can't. It's all right. You said some perfectly awful things last night—"