him
so."

Phyllis brushed off her tears, and smiled. You seemed to have to do so
much smiling in this house!

"I know," she said. "I worry about his condition too much. But you
see--he's--all I have.... Good-night, Wallis."

Once out of Allan's room, she ran at full speed till she gained her own
bed, where she could cry in peace till morning if she wanted to, with no
one to interrupt. That was all right. The trouble was going to be next
morning.

But somehow, when morning came, the old routine was dragged through
with. Directions had to be given the servants as usual, Allan's comfort
and amusement seen to, just as if nothing had happened. It was a perfect
day, golden and perfumed, with just that little tang of fresh windiness
that June days have in the northern states. And Allan must not lose
it--he must be wheeled out into the garden.

She came out to him, in the place where they usually sat, and sank for a
moment in the hammock, that afternoon. She had avoided him all the
morning.

"I just came to see if everything was all right," she said, leaning
toward him in that childlike, earnest way he knew so well. "I don't need
to stay here if I worry you."

"I'd rather you'd stay, if you don't mind," he answered. Phyllis looked
at him intently. He was white and dispirited, and his voice was
listless. Oh, Phyllis thought, if Louise Frey had only been kind enough
to die in babyhood, instead of under Allan's automobile! What could
there have been about her to hold Allan so long? She glanced at his
weary face again. This would never do! What had come to be her dominant
instinct, keeping Allan's spirits up, emboldened her to bend forward,
and even laugh a little.

"Come, Allan!" she said. "Even if we're not going to stay together
always, we might as well be cheerful till we do part. We used to be good
friends enough. Can't we be so a little longer?" It sounded heartless to
her after she had said it, but it seemed the only way to speak. She
smiled at him bravely.

Allan looked at her mutely for a moment, as if she had hurt him.

"You're right," he said suddenly. "There's no time but the present,
after all. Come over here, closer to me, Phyllis. You've been awfully
good to me, child--isn't there anything--_anything_ I could do for
you--something you could remember afterwards, and say, 'Well, he did
that for me, any way?'"

Phyllis's eyes filled with tears. "You have given me everything
already," she said, catching