ed Marjorie with prolonged, tender interest. "Any
time now!" she breathed.

"Yes," said Marjorie desperately. "The ship will be in some time next
week. Yes, I'm thrilled. It's--it's wonderful. Thank you, Miss
Kaplan, I knew you would be sympathetic."

One hand was clenching and unclenching itself where Miss Kaplan,
fortunately a young person whose own side of emotions occupied her
exclusively, could not see it.

Miss Kaplan kissed her, quite uninvited, again, said "_Dear_ little
war-bride!" and--just in time, Marjorie always swore, to save herself
from death, fled out.

It is all very well to be a war-bride when there's a war, but the war
was over.

"And I'm married," Marjorie said when the door had swung to behind Miss
Kaplan, "for life!"

She was twenty-one. She was little and slender, with a wistful, very
sweet face like a miniature; big dark-blue eyes, a small mouth that
tipped down a little at the indented corners, and a transparently rose
and white skin. She looked a great deal younger even than she was, and
her being Mrs. Ellison had amused every one, including herself, for the
last year she had used the name. As she sat down at her desk again,
and looked helplessly at the keen, dark young face surmounted by an
officer's cap, that for very shame's sake she had not taken away from
her desk, she looked like a frightened little girl. And she _was_
frightened.

It had been very thrilling, if scary, to be married to Francis Ellison,
when he wasn't around. The letters--the _dear_ letters!--and the
watching for mails, and being frightened when there were battles, and
wearing the new wedding-ring, had made her perfectly certain that when
Francis came back she would be very glad, and live happily ever after.
And now that he was coming she was just plain frightened,
suffocatingly, abjectly scared to death.

"I mustn't be!" she told herself, trying to give herself orders to feel
differently. "I _must_ be very glad!" But it was impossible to do
anything with herself. She continued to feel as if her execution was
next week, instead of her reunion with a husband who wrote that he was
looking forward to----

"If he didn't describe kissing me," shivered poor little Marjorie to
herself, "so accurately!"

She had met Francis just about a month before they were married. He
had come to see her with her cousin, who was in the same company at
Plattsburg. Her cousin was engaged to a dear friend of hers, and