red, looking at him shyly, through lowered
lids. "There is a choice. But it rests with you. Mr. West, if you want
me to do this thing--if you really want me to, and it's a big thing to
do, even for you--I'll do it. There! I'll do it! I'll go on living like
a chopped worm for your sake. But--but--you'll have to do something for
me in return. Now I wonder if you can guess what I'm hinting at?"

West's face changed. The eagerness went out of it. Something of his
habitual grimness of expression returned.

Yet his voice was full of tenderness when he spoke.

"Cynthia," he said very earnestly, "there is nothing on this earth that
I will not do for you. But don't ask me to be the means of ruining you
socially, of depriving you of all your friends, of degrading you to a
position that would break your heart."

A glimmer of amusement flashed across Cynthia's drawn face.

"Oh!" she said, a little quiver in her voice. "You are funny, you men,
dull as moles and blind as bats. My dear, there's only one person in
this little universe who has the power to break my heart, and it isn't
any fault of his that he didn't do it long ago. No, don't speak. There's
nothing left for you to say. The petition is dismissed, but not the
petitioner; so listen to me instead. I've a sentimental fancy to be able
to have 'Mrs. Nat V. West' written on my tombstone in the event of my
demise to-morrow. I want you to make arrangements for the same."

"Cynthia!"

The word was almost a cry, but she checked it, her fingers on his lips.

"You great big silly!" she murmured, laughing weakly. "Where's your
sense of humour? Can't you see I'm not going to die? But I'm going to be
Mrs. Nat V. West all the same. Now, is that quite understood, I wonder?
Because I don't want to cry any more--I'm tired."

"You wish to marry me in the morning--before the operation?" West said,
speaking almost under his breath.

His face was close to hers. She looked him suddenly straight in the
eyes.

"Yes, just that," she told him softly. "I want--dear--I want to go to
sleep, holding my husband's hand."

XI

"It's a clear case of desertion," declared Cynthia imperturbably, two
months later. "But never mind that now, Jack. How do you like my sling?
Isn't it just the cutest thing in creation?"

"You look splendid," Babbacombe said with warmth, but he surveyed her
with slightly raised brows notwithstanding.

She nodded brightly in response.

"No, I'm not worrying