ow she arranged, and drift into a state
of dreamy content as she read to him. This happy arrangement might go
on forever except that, in the course of time, his shoulder was bound
to heal. And then--he knew well enough that old Dame Society was even
at the end of these first ten days beginning to fidget. He knew that
Marjory knew it, too. It began the day Dr. Marcellin advised him to
take a walk in the Champs Elysees.

He was perfectly willing to do that. It was beautiful out there. They
sat down at one of the little iron tables--the little tables were so
warm and sociable now--and beneath the whispering trees sipped their
cafe au lait. But the fact that he was able to get out of his room
seemed to make a difference in their thoughts. It was as if his status
had changed. It was as if those who passed him, with a glance at his
arm in its sling, stopped to tell him so.

It was none of their business, at that. It would have been sheer
presumption of them to have butted into any of the other affairs of his
life: whether he was losing money or making money; whether he was going
to England or to Spain, or going to remain where he was; whether he
preferred chops for breakfast, or bread and coffee. Theoretically,
then, it was sheer presumption for them to interest themselves in the
question of whether he was an invalid confined to his room, or a
convalescent able to get out, or a man wholly recovered.

Yet he knew that, with every passing day that he came out into the
sunshine, these same people were managing to make Marjory's position
more and more delicate. It became increasingly less comfortable for
her and for him when they returned to the hotel.

Therefore he was not greatly surprised when she remarked one morning:--

"Monte, I've been thinking over where I shall go, and I 've about
decided to go to Etois."

"When?" he asked.

"Very soon--before the end of the week, anyway."

"But look here!" he protested. "What am I going to do?"

"I don't know," she smiled. "But one thing is certain: you can't play
sick very much longer."

"The doctor says it will be another two weeks before my arm is out of
the sling."

"Even so, the rest of you is well. There is n't much excuse for my
bringing in your breakfasts, Monte."

"Do you mind doing it?"

"No."

"Who is to tie on this silk handkerchief?" He wore a black silk
handkerchief over his bandages, which she always adjusted for him.

She met his eyes