"Don't give me any, please."
"Darling! No breakfast!"
"I'll have some toast. Oh, don't, don't worry me! I've told you I feel simply on edge."
Osborn ate his bacon with a feeling that somehow he ought not; but he was hungry. He ate Marie's portion, too, half apologetically. There was one thing, however, which, very sensibly, he omitted to do; he had the tact not to open the morning paper. There are some things which a woman will not stand, and one is the sight of an abstracted man behind a paper, letting his crumbs fall down his waistcoat, when she feels nervy.
"Lovely morning, dearest," said Osborn; "you ought to go for a brisk walk."
"Perhaps I will."
"You do look awf'ly seedy."
"I feel it."
"I hope your mother will come round this morning. She'd do the marketing for you, or something, wouldn't she?"
"Yes, Osborn, I'm sure she would."