h. "Life
is hard enough without your making it worse."

"I shall not lecture you, I promise, but," she continued, taking
Marion's hands and pulling her up from the lounge, "as your nurse, I
must see that you have a change. Come, tell me what are the plans for
to-day."

"Why, there's the luncheon at Mrs. Ryder's."

"Good, and what else?"

"Why, we dine at the Beemers' to-night."

"And to-morrow?"

"We go to the races on Walter Sedger's drag, and dine at the Washington
Park Club."

"Is your husband going?"

"Of course."

"How does he leave his business?"

"I make him."

"Very well, then this morning before luncheon we take a walk as far as
Lincoln Park."

"I can't walk that far, Florence."

"You are going to walk that far," said Florence, authoritatively. "I am
your nurse, and I insist upon it."

"But I shall be ill all day."

"Never mind, you will get over it this afternoon when we read some
Thackeray, and to-morrow morning you and I will do the marketing."

"You are crazy, Florence, I do believe."

"I never was more sane in my life. Come, I am in earnest. You would have
me here, you know, and I shall make myself so disagreeable that you will
be thankful when I am gone."

"O, Florence, how can you be so rough?" said Marion, as Florence dragged
her toward the door.

"There, now," said Florence, after they had passed into the hall, "go
and put on your hat. I brought mine with me."

"Just think of the heat, Florence," said Marion as she disappeared up
the stairs.

In a few minutes Marion returned looking brighter already, Florence
thought, and the two women were soon strolling along the lake shore
talking over the countless trivialities women find to talk about, and at
tea-time, after a day of Florence's nursing, Marion was forced to admit
that she had passed an unusually cheerful day. Roswell Sanderson came in
just as they were finishing tea, and after taking a seat and declining
a cup of the beverage, he said in a careless manner: "By the way,
Marion, an old friend of yours came into the bank just before I left."

"Who?" asked Marion.

"That New Yorker, Duncan Grahame."

Marion felt a sudden sinking in her heart and was conscious that the
color was fading from her cheeks, but she took a large swallow of tea
and tried to look unconcerned. Florence watched Roswell's face closely
and saw the same expression come into his eyes which she had noticed
that afternoon at the Renaissance Club tea.