ie! Marjorie!" over and over again, as if her name
would keep her close to him, and hold her real.

She laughed a little again presently.

"It's really so, you know, Francis."

"I don't believe it in the least!" said Francis, in a more assertive
voice than he had used yet. He laughed, too. She looked at the dark,
vivid face so near hers, and so changed from what it had been five
minutes before.

"Well, you did take a lot of convincing!" she said demurely. "I felt
so bold----"

"Darling," said Francis, kissing her parenthetically, "do you think it
would be too much for you if you sat on my knees a little while? I
can't get at half enough of you where you are. And doctors say that
being too long in one position is very bad for invalids."

"You might try," said Marjorie docilely; "though, honestly, Francis, I
don't feel any more like an invalid than you do. I feel perfectly well
and strong--let me see if I can stand up!"

He really shouldn't--Mrs. O'Mara told him that severely two hours
afterwards--but at that particular moment he would have done anything
in the world Marjorie requested. He lifted her to a standing position
very carefully, and held her supported while she tried how she felt
being really on her feet again. It was the first time. Until now,
Pennington had carried her in and out, while Francis felt a deadly envy
in his heart.

"See, I'm all well!" she said triumphantly, looking exactly, as he told
her, like a doll, with her lacy draperies and her shoulder-length
curls, and her slim arms thrown out to balance herself. He let her
stand there a minute or so, and then pulled her gently over and held
her for a while.

At least, they thought it was a while. It was much more like two
hours; there was so much to talk over, and explain, and arrange for
generally. They decided to stay just where they were, for a little
while at least, after Francis's work was done. Marjorie was to get
strong as quickly as possible, and they were both, after their long
practice at being unhappy, to try to be as happy as possible. And the
very first time that Francis was jealous, or objected to any one
kissing her hand or traveling from New York to take her away from a
cruel husband, Marjorie was to leave him forever. This was his
suggestion.

"But I don't think I would," said Marjorie thoughtfully, lifting her
head a little from his shoulder. "I never did, did I, no matter what
you did to me? You couldn't