"I don't believe," she said slowly, "that a man is often called upon to
leave the place where he can be most useful, on account of his wife's
tastes or preferences--providing nothing more serious is involved. And,
when her tastes and preferences are on his side of the question, there
can be no doubt at all. You may be at rest, Red, for I'm sure I'm
happiest to live your life with you, just as it is best for you to live
it. And I love my country surgeon so well I don't want him made over into
anything else. I can't believe he'd be so satisfactory in any other
shape!"

Red Pepper Burns gently released himself from his wife's arms, walked
over to the window, and stood there looking out into the thick branches
of a magnolia tree, the ends of which came so close he could almost put
out a hand into the night and touch them. There was suddenly upon him a
deep realization of just how much her words meant. He felt unworthy of a
love like that, even though he knew that all there was of him to give was
wholly hers.

She stood, motionless, looking after him, her eyes touched with a lovely
light, but she did not move. And, presently, when he had conquered the
curious stricture which had unexpectedly attacked his throat, he turned
and saw her there, an exquisite figure in the French gown which she could
seldom have occasion to wear where she had chosen to live out her life
with him. Both understood that the decision they had made was made for
a lifetime, as such decisions are.

"I believe I could take it better," said he, somewhat unsteadily, "if you
weren't wearing that confounded dress. It makes me feel like what Jim
Macauley dubbed me once--a Turk. Who am I, that I should keep you hidden
away in my little old brick house?"

She turned and caught up a long gauzy scarf of white silk with heavy
fringed ends. She drew it lightly about her shoulders, veiling the
delicate flesh from his sight. Then she flung one end of the scarf up
over her head and face, and came toward him, her dark eyes showing
mistily through the drapery, her lips smiling.

"I'm not sure I don't like being guarded by my Turk, Red," she said.
"And--about the frock." She came closer still, standing before him with
downbent head, and speaking low, through the veiling, silken gauze.
"Please don't mind about that. I'm going to leave it behind with
Charlotte. I shall not care to wear it. When next May comes I hope I
shall be wearing only simple frocks that--little