Again Bert made a gruff sound, and this time he kissed his wife,
but he did not speak for a moment. When he did, it was with a
long, deep breath.

"Lord--Lord--Lord!" said he.

"Why do you say that?" asked Nancy.

"Oh, I was just thinking!" Bert stretched in his chair, to the
infinite peril of his equilibrium and hers. "I was just thinking
what a wonderful thing it is to be married, and to climb and fall,
and succeed and fail, and all the rest of it!" he said
contentedly. "I'll bet you there are lots of rich men who would
like to try it again! I was just thinking what corking times we're
going to have this year, what it's going to be like to have my
little commutation punched like the rest of 'em, and come home in
the dark, winter nights, to just my own wife and my own kids! I
like company now and then--the Biggerstaffs and the Ingrams--but I
like you all the year round. We'll--we'll read Dickens this
winter!"

Nancy gave a laugh that was half a sob.

"Bert--we were always going to read Dickens! Do you remember?"

"Do I remember!" He smoked for a while in silence. Then he
chuckled. "Do you remember the Sunday breakfasts in the East
Eleventh Street flat? With real cream and corn bread? Do you
remember wheeling Junior through the park?"