"It's not so often that we go out, is it?" he remarked. "We must make the best of the times we get."
"This is lovely."
"Poor old girl!" said Osborn, "you don't get out on the loose very much, do you? But I don't suppose you want to, though; women are different from men. A woman's interest centres in her home, and you've quite enough to do to keep your mind occupied, haven't you?"
"And my hands. Look at them!"
She spread them before him.
"Poor old girl!" said Osborn, looking.
A recollection stirred in him, too, of what those hands had been in the days of their romance. "You used to have the prettiest hands I ever saw," he said.
She snatched them petulantly under the table again.
"Don't!"
"Don't what?"