"But she knows I'm not," said Osborn gloomily, "and neither will she be. One child on our income is enough. It would be different if we had plenty of money, but we haven't. Why, a family in this flat! This flat with two bedrooms! Imagine it! When God sends these blessings, as you infer He does, He should build rooms for 'em. I can't."
"Oh, don't!" Mrs. Amber implored, "don't! I'm not superstitious, but—" she looked around her and shuddered—"but you ought not to say such things. It isn't right. People must make sacrifices."
"Don't say it all over again."
She went with her waddling gait, agitatedly, to the door.
"Good night," she said. "Be very, very kind to Marie, won't you?"
"I don't need anyone to tell me how to treat my own wife," he replied stiffly.
"Oh, Osborn, don't be offended."
"I'm not offended," he said shortly. "Good night, and thanks for staying in, and lighting the fire and all that."
He did not remain to watch her slow progress down the stone stairs, but closed the door and went back to the fire. He pulled out his pipe, filled and lighted it. There descended upon him that feeling of hopeless exasperation which many a young man has felt in many such a situation. When one married did one's liabilities never cease? Did they never even remain stationary, allowing a man to settle his course and keep to it, in spite of the boredom involved? Would life be always just a constant ringing of the changes on paying the rent, paying the instalment on the furniture, paying the doctor, paying the nurse, paying to go for one anxious week to Littlehampton? Wasn't there some alternative?
All a man appeared able to do was to escape for furtive minutes from his chains, to steal furtive shillings from his obligations and spend them otherwise.