"Still delighted with domestic life?"
"Oh, that doesn't last, of course," said Marie, looking away and sighing. "A man always gets to think of his home as just the place where bills are sent. Osborn's out a good deal in the evenings, like other men, of course. There's one thing—it leaves me very free. There's always something to be done, you see, and I can get through a great deal in the evenings if he's out."
"And if he's in?"
"Oh well, a man likes one to sit down and talk to him, naturally."
"How awf'ly obliging wives are!"
"My dear, if you were married, you'd know that the only way is to humour them."
The waitress came in with the tea tray and set the table daintily. To Julia it was a matter of course, but Marie watched the deft girl who handled things so swiftly and quietly; she took in the neatness of her black frock, and the starched whiteness of her laundering; and when the maid had left them, she turned with an envious, smiling sigh to Julia, and said:
"The servants here are so nice. I always used to think, when I had a maid, she'd look like that. We were going to have one, you know, when Osborn got his first rise after we were married, but George came; and now—three of them! It'll always be impossible, of course."
"I daresay you'd rather have the children than the maid."
"Of course I would—the priceless things!" Marie cried, her small pale face warming with maternity.