and loved and trusted.

"And now, David," she said at last, "I think we have both known that
some day this would occur. We are too good friends to be anything but
frank--I am not afraid, and it is essential that I should know the
truth. The family ogre has caught me--but it has not conquered me yet!"

"Well, Doris--it is the first call!" The man's words hurt like a knife
turned upon himself.

"I feared so--and I am forty-nine."

"A mere child, my dear, if we deal honestly with the fact. Your father
was fifty-five and might have lived to be seventy if he had stopped in
time. Your grandfather----"

"Never mind, David, let's keep to me. How much longer--have I?"

"No man on earth could tell you that, my dear, but I hope--always
granting that you will be wise--that you may count on, say, twenty
years."

They both smiled. After all, what did it matter?

"And--what do you suggest I should do--as a beginning of the--twenty
years?"

"Close this house, Doris, and start another kind of existence--somewhere
else."

"Why, David--I must bring the girls out, you know. They must not be
told--of this."

"They need be told only what you choose to have them know, but as to the
bringing-out farce--that's rot! Those girls will get out by one door or
another, never fear. _You_ are to be kept in--that's the important thing
at present."

"Dear old David!" Doris's eyes dimmed as she looked at the kind face
bending over the hands lying limp, now, on her lap. She noticed that
there was white on the temple where the dark hair had turned; the heavy
shoulders were bent permanently. She longed to do something more for
David during the next--twenty years!

"You must not give way, Doris. A change is good for us all." Martin
noted the tears in the eyes holding his own, but he did not understand
their source.

"I am afraid the girls will be so disappointed," was what Doris said.

"Pampered creatures! It will do them good. But Nancy will love it and
Joan can kick the traces if she wants to--that will do her good."
Martin leaned back and crossed his legs in the old boyish way.

"What will Nancy love, David?"

"Why, the out-of-door country life. She's that kind. Flowers and animals
and quiet."

"Country life?" Doris sat up. "But, David, I could not stand country
life, myself. I love to look at the country, listen to it, play with
it--but I am a citizen to the core. It is simply impossible. One has to
be born with the country in his