Then he waited upon her; but he let her pour out the tea, because he wanted to see her do it, in her own home, for the first time. The situation thrilled both, after a fortnight of thrills.
"I wish Desmond could see us now!" said Osborn.
"I wish Julia could."
"I think we should convert 'em."
Osborn sat on the hearthrug with shoulders against Marie's knees. One of her hands stole round his neck and he held it there; he knew it was the softest small hand in the world; he had no misgivings about it and its tasks. The hour seemed ineffably rosy.
"And to-morrow," he stated, "I go back to work."
"My poor boy," said Marie, "and I shan't work any more."
"Thank heaven, no." Osborn kissed the hand he held.
"This must always stay as soft as rose-leaves," he said fondly.
"You may count on my doing my best for it," said Marie laughing, "I like nice hands. No woman can look well-dressed without nicely-kept hands. And that reminds me, Osborn, I want some more cream for my nails—cuticle-cream it's called. Any good cuticle-cream will do."