rl up like a dog when
it's hurt. Curl _up_!"

"_Don't_! I _am_!" said Lucille. "If you issue any more orders in
that tone I'll look like a caterpillar. Now, what really did happen,
Marjorie?" she ended in a gentler tone and more seriously.

She pulled Marjorie's head over on to her own plump shoulder, and put
an arm round her.

"It was all my fault. I don't love him any more. I don't want to be
married to him. I didn't mean to show it, I meant to be very good
about it, but he knows so much more than he did when he went away. He
knew it directly. And now he's dreadfully hurt."

"You poor little darling! What a horrid time you've been having all
this time everybody's been thinking you were looking forward to his
coming home. Why, you must have nearly gone crazy!"

"It's worse for him," said Marjorie in a subdued voice, nestling down
on Lucille's shoulder.

"Oh, I don't know," said Lucille comfortably. "Men can generally take
care of themselves. . . . But are you sure you don't love him the
least little bit?"

"I'm afraid of him. He's like somebody strange. . . . It's so long
ago."

"So long ago an' so far away, le's hope it ain' true!" quoted Lucille
amiably. "Well, darling, if you don't want to marry him you needn't--I
mean, if you don't want to stay married to him you needn't. I'm sure
something can be done. Francis is perfectly sure to do anything you
like, he adores you so."

But this didn't seem to give comfort, either. And as the boiler was
moaning with excess of heat, Lucille dashed for the bathtub. She
talked to Marjorie through the flimsy door as she splashed, to the
effect that Marjorie had much better let her call up another man and go
out on a nice little foursome, instead of staying at home. But there
Marjorie was firm. She would have preferred anything to her own
society, but she felt as if any sort of a party would have been like
breaking through first mourning.

So she saw Lucille, an immaculate vision of satins and picture hats, go
off gaily with her cavalier, and remained herself all alone in the
little room, lying on the sofa, going over everything that had happened
and ending it differently. She was very tired, and felt guiltier and
guiltier as time went on. Finally she rose and went to the telephone
and called the number Francis had left.

The voice that answered her was very curt and very quiet.

"Yes. . . . This is Captain Ellison. Yes, Marjorie? What is it