usly as though her heart were not singing a
ceaseless hymn of happiness too deep, too thankful to utter by word or
look.

"Dear little Rita," she exclaimed, suddenly and tenderly solemn--"I saw
her the morning of the day she departed with John. And first of all I
asked about you of course--you spoiled thing!--and then I asked about
John. And we put our arms around each other and had a good,
old-fashioned cry.... But--_don't_ you think he is going to get well,
Louis?"

"Sam's brother--Billy Ogilvy--wrote me that he would always have to live
in Arizona. He _can_ live there. But the East would be death to him."

"Can't he ever come back?" she asked pitifully.

"No, dear."

"But--but what will Rita do?"

He said: "I think that will depend on Rita. I think it depends on her
already."

"Why?" she asked, wide-eyed. "Do you believe that John cares for her?"

"I know he does.... And I haven't much doubt that he wants to marry
her."

"Do you think so? Oh, Louis--if that is true, what a heavenly future
for Rita!"

"Heavenly? Out in that scorching desert?"

"Do you think she'd care _where_ she was? Kelly, you're ridiculous!"

"Do you believe that any woman could stand that for the rest of her
life, Valerie?"

She smiled, head lowered, fondling the cat who had gone ecstatically to
sleep.

She said, still smiling: "If a girl is loved she endures some things; if
she loves she endures more. But to a girl who is loved, and who loves,
nothing else matters ... And it would be that way with Rita"--she lifted
her eyes--"as it is with me."

He was standing beside her now; she made room on the side of the bed for
him with a little gesture of invitation:

"People who die for each other are less admirable than people who live
for each other. The latter requires the higher type of courage ... If I
go out of your life I am like a dead person to you--a little worse in
fact. Besides, I've shown the white feather and run away. That's a
cowardly solution of a problem, isn't it?"

"Am I a coward if I decide to stand back and give you a chance?"

"You haven't decided to do it," she said cheerfully, lifting the
somnolent cat and hugging it.

"I'm afraid I have, dear."

"Why?"

"You read my letter?"

"Yes and kissed every line in it."

He retained sufficient self-control to keep his hands off her--but that
was all; and her eyes, which were looking into his, grew serious and
beautiful.

"I love you so," she breathed.