ck and head, and sat down facing
her. He had placed her just where the waning light from the western sky
fell full on her face; his own was in the shadow. He was watching her
unmercifully--she felt that, and desperately turned her face aside,
burying in a friendly pillow the cheek which was colouring under his
gaze.

"Is the headache so bad?" he asked softly. "I never knew Juliet Marcy to
have a headache before. Poor little girl--dear little girl--who has worked
so hard to please her old friend." He leaned forward and she felt his hand
upon her hair. The tenderness in his voice and touch were carrying away
all her defences. But he went on without giving her respite.

"Do you think _she_ will be happy here, chum? Will it take the place of
the old life for a few years, till I can give her more? She'll have
nothing here, you know, outside of this little home, but my love. That
wouldn't be enough for any ordinary woman, would it?"

She was not looking at him, but she could see him as plainly as if she
were. Always she had thought him the strongest, best fellow she knew. He
had been her devoted friend so long; she had not realised in the least
until lately how it was going to seem to get on without him. But she knew
now.

She felt a dreadful choking in her throat again. It seemed to be closely
connected with another peculiar sensation, as if her heart had turned into
a lump of lead. In another minute she knew that she should break down,
which would be humiliating beyond words. She started up from her cushions
with a fierce attempt to keep a grip upon herself.

"I know you're very happy," she breathed, "and I'm very glad. But really
I--I'm not at all sentimental to-night. I'm afraid a headache does not
make one sympathetic."

But she could not get past him; Anthony's stalwart figure barred the way.
His strong hands put her gently back among the cushions. She turned her
head away, fighting hard for that thing she could not keep--her
self-control.

"Is it really a headache?" asked the low voice in her ear. "Just a
headache? Not by any chance--a heartache, Juliet?"

"Anthony Robeson!" she cried, but guardedly, lest the open window betray
her. "What do you mean? You say very strange things. Why should I have a
heartache? Because you are marrying the girl you love? How often have I
begged you to go and find her? Do you think I would have done all this for
her--and you--if I had cared?"

She tried to look defiantly into