only seen him
once; he had said he was sorry for the way he had acted, and asked her
to forgive him, but then it wasn't the first time he had done that.

"It's getting to be just a little morning custom of his," said Marjorie
to herself, trying to laugh. But she was in earnest about seeing him.
Away down deep in her she was not quite sure why she wanted to. She
was not angry with him--she seemed to herself past that. Of course,
there were things to arrange.

It seemed like a sorry ending to it all. She had meant to ride
triumphantly through the work, and walk off leaving a crushed Francis
behind her; and make such a success of something back in New York that
he would spend years being very, very sorry. . . . Well, he did seem
sorry. But it was only because he felt guilty about her being ill,
not, so far as she could tell, because he cared a bit about her any
more. And it really was not his fault, her illness. She had been well
and happy, and even liked the work. The doctor had said that the
miasma in the swamp, and her sitting by it for hours, making a wreath
of flowers like a small girl, were alone responsible. And even if he
was softening the blow, she had been tired and worried before she came
up; the housework at the cabin wouldn't have been enough. She must
tell Francis so. He _did_ take things so hard.

When he came, led by Peggy, neither of them seemed to know what to say
for a little while. Francis sat down by her and spoke constrainedly,
and then merely stared and stared.

"Well, what is it then?" demanded Peggy, who was hovering about, and,
unlike the Ellisons, seemed to have no emotions to disturb her. "Has
she two heads, or had you forgotten her looks entirely?"

"I think I must have forgotten her looks entirely," he answered slowly,
never taking his eyes off Marjorie. "You know--well, I hadn't seen
you, Marjorie, for some time. But you always were beautiful."

Marjorie turned pink up to the ribbon bow that sat out like a little
girl's at one temple.

"Was I?" was all she found to say.

"Yes," he said, and said no more.

At this juncture Peggy rose.

"Well, I'm sorry not to stay here and help you carry on this fluent
conversation," she said, tossing her head. "But I have an engagement
elsewhere. If you want me ring the bell."

This was more or less metaphorical--probably a quotation from
Thackeray--because there was no bell in sight. But at any rate Peggy
left with one of her