"I hope you'll like this, Osborn," said Marie; "I prepared it myself this morning."
When the maid had gone, he switched off to a less troublous track.
"My socks are all in a shocking condition; I don't know how long it'll take to mend 'em, dear."
"I'll spend to-morrow looking over your things. I daresay you want repairs throughout."
"You're a darling. I believe I've wanted you to look after me. But don't stew in over my mending all day. Run into town and lunch with me."
"I'll be delighted, Osborn."
"We must have a beano one evening, quite soon. You'd like it?"
"I'd love it."
He smiled affectionately, pressing her hand. It was nice to give a woman such pleasure.
After dinner they were to make their own coffee in their old way, in the sitting-room; and after Marie had made it and brought his cup to him, Osborn leaned back in his corner of the couch to smoke and dream and talk happily, as a well-fed man does. His gaze, wandering round the room, found the piano, which he recognised with respect.