ing her father happy. She watched over him and
waited on him. And he who loved her wondered at her unexpected
strength, not knowing that she was saying to herself, "I am a wife--not
a child. And I mustn't make it hard for father--I mustn't make it hard
for anybody. And when Barry comes back I shall be better fitted to
share his life if I have learned to be brave."

She wrote to Barry--such cheerful letters, and one of them sent him to
Gordon.

"It would have been better if I had brought her with me," he said, as
he read extracts; "she's a little thing, Gordon, but she's a wonder.
And she's the prop on which I lean."

"Presently you will be the prop," Gordon responded, "and that's what a
husband should be, Barry, as you'll find out when you're married."

When!--if Gordon had only known how Barry dreamed of Leila--in her
yellow gown, trudging by his side toward the church on the
hill--dancing in the moonlight, a primrose swaying on its stem. How
unquestioning had been her faith in him! And he must prove himself
worthy of that faith.

And he did prove it by a steadiness which astonished Gordon, and by an
industry which was almost unnatural, and he wrote to Leila, "I shall
show them, dear heart, and then they'll let me have you."

It was on the night after Leila received this letter that Porter came
to take her for a ride.

"Ask Mary to go with us," he said; "she won't go with me alone."

Leila's glance was sympathetic. "Did she say she wouldn't?"

"I asked her. And she said she was--tired. As if a ride wouldn't rest
her," hotly.

"It would. You let me try her, Porter."

Leila's voice at the telephone was coaxing. "I want to go, Mary, dear,
and Dad is busy at the Capitol, and----"

"But I said I wouldn't."

"Porter won't care, just so he gets you. He's at my elbow now,
listening. And he says you are to ask Aunt Isabelle, and sit with her
on the back seat if you want to be fussy."

"Leila," Porter was protesting, "I didn't say anything of the kind."

She went on regardless, "Well, if he didn't say it he meant it. And we
want you, both of us, awfully."

Leila hanging up the receiver shook her head at Porter. "You don't
know how to manage Mary. If you'd stay away from her for weeks--and
not try to see her--she'd begin to wonder where you were."

"No she wouldn't." Porter's tone was weighted with woe. "She'd simply
be glad, and she'd sit in her Tower Rooms and write letters to Roger
Poole