"But you're sure that--that----" Mrs. West hesitated.

Dorothy nodded her head violently.

"When----" began Mrs. West.

"It--it was when he disappeared," she said with averted face. "I--I
seemed to miss him so much. Oh! but mother," she cried, clasping her
mother's knee, "he's so funny, and really he wants someone to look
after him. You see," she continued slowly, gazing away from her
mother, "it's always difficult to---- What made you love--care for
father?" she corrected.

"He was your father, dear."

"Yes; but he wasn't before you married him."

"Dear, you----" began Mrs. West, a flush of embarrassment mounting to
her cheeks.

"Own up, mother, that you don't know. You can't say it was the shape
of his nose, or the way he ate, or his chest measurement."

"Dorothy! why will you never be serious?" protested Mrs. West.

"I can't, mother," cried Dorothy, jumping up and walking over to the
window. "No girl ever really knows why she wants to marry a man," she
remarked, gazing out of the window. "It's just a feeling. I've got a
feeling that I want to take care of John Dene, and--and--oh, mother!
see to his boots," she finished with a laugh.

"I like Mr. Dene, Dorothy," said Mrs. West with a decisiveness that was
with her uncommon.

"I know you do," said Dorothy mischievously. "That's what I'm afraid
of."

"Dorothy dear, you mustn't," began Mrs. West.

"And," continued Dorothy relentlessly, "I won't have any poaching. I
don't mind his being nice to you," she continued, leaving the window
and planting herself in front of her mother, "because you really are
rather nice." She tilted her head on one side, a picture of impudence.
"Now, Mrs. West," she said, "the sooner we understand each other the
better."

Again she was back on the stool at her mother's feet. For some minutes
there was silence.

"Mother!" She looked up with grave and serious eyes.

"Yes, dear."

"I always prayed for--for him to come back. I--I---- Oh bother!" as
the bell rang.

"I wonder who that is. We won't answer it."

"But we must, dear," expostulated Mrs. West. "It might be a friend."

"Oh, well," cried Dorothy, getting up and going out into the tiny hall.
A moment later she re-entered, followed by Marjorie Rogers. "It's
Marjorie, mother."

Mrs. West smiled up at her as the girl bent to kiss her.

"I've come to know," began Marjorie, then she hesitated.

"To know what?" asked Dorothy.

"If it's all righ