Shall I bring you some?"

He was still smiling faintly when he brought up the pitcher, some time
later, and placed it on the stand beside the bed.

CHAPTER XXXV

In the Boyd house things went on much as before, but with a new
heaviness. Ellen, watching keenly, knew why the little house was so
cheerless and somber. It had been Willy Cameron who had brought to
it its gayer moments, Willy determinedly cheerful, slamming doors and
whistling; Willy racing up the stairs with something hot for Mrs. Boyd's
tray; Willy at the table, making them forget the frugality of the meals
with campaign anecdotes; Willy, lamenting the lack of a chance to fish,
and subsequently eliciting a rare smile from Edith by being discovered
angling in the kitchen sink with a piece of twine on the end of his
umbrella.

Rather forced, some of it, but eminently good for all of them. And then
suddenly it ceased. He made an effort, but there was no spontaneity in
him. He came in quietly, never whistled, and ate very little. He began
to look almost gaunt, too, and Edith, watching him with jealous, loving
eyes, gave voice at last to the thought that was in her mind.

"I wish you'd go away," she said, "and let us fight this thing out
ourselves. Dan would have to get something to do, then, for one thing."

"But I don't want to go away, Edith."

"Then you're a fool," she observed, bitterly. "You can't help me any,
and there's no use hanging mother around your neck."

"She won't be around any one's neck very long, Edith dear."

"After that, will you go away?"

"Not if you still want me."

"Want you!"

Dan was out, and Ellen had gone up for the invalid's tray. They were
alone together, standing in the kitchen doorway.

Suddenly Edith, beside him, ran her hand through his arm.

"If I had been a different sort of girl, Willy, do you think--could you
ever have cared for me?"

"I never thought about you that way," he said, simply. "I do care for
you. You know that."

She dropped her hand.

"You are in love with Lily Cardew. That's why you don't--I've known it
all along, Willy. I used to think you'd get over it, never seeing her
and all that. But you don't, do you?" She looked up at him. "The real
thing lasts, I suppose. It will with me. I wish to heaven it wouldn't."

He was most uncomfortable, but he drew her hand within his arm again and
held it there.

"Don't get to thinking that you care anything about me," he said.
"There's not as