She waved a hand vaguely around, but her look was on the raven woman, on whose face the white cosmetic, exquisitely applied, was like pale rose petals.
"I do think you're pretty. As for your turn-out—" he glanced over it quickly—"it's all right, isn't it? It's what we can afford, anyway. We can't help it, can we?"
She shook her head. "I've had no new clothes since we were married," she murmured suddenly in a voice of yearning.
"Well," said Osborn after a pause, "you had such lots; such a big trousseau, hadn't you? It's supposed to last some while."
"It's lasted!" Her laugh rang out with a curious merriment; her eyes were downcast so that he could not see the tears in them, but something about his wife touched him profoundly.
He exclaimed, with rejuvenated sentiment: "You know I'd always give you everything I could! You know it isn't because I won't that I don't give you the most wonderful clothes in town, so that you could beat every other woman hollow."
His sentiment flushed her cheeks and cleared the mist from her eyes. She asked, half shyly and coquettishly:
"Do you think I should?"
"Of course you would, little girl. You're charming; anything more unlike the mother of two great kids I never saw."
"Ah," she said slowly, "but you forget to tell me."