s
stealing me, as if I were one of those poor Sabine women in the history
book."

They were fronting each other across the threshold all this time,
Francis with his face rigid and pale with anger, his wife flushed and
quivering.

"I admit I hadn't thought of that," said Francis, referring presumably
to Lucille's possibilities as an informer, and not to Marjorie's being
a Sabine woman.

Marjorie moved back wearily and sat on the bed.

"And you were just getting to be such a nice friend," she mourned. "I
was getting so I _liked_ you. There never was anybody pleasanter than
you while we were coming up from New York. Why, you weren't like a
person one was married to, at all!"

"More like a friend nor a 'usband," quoted Francis unexpectedly.

Marjorie looked at him in surprise. Any one who could stop in the
middle of a very fine quarrel to see the funny side of things that way
wasn't so bad, her mind remarked to itself before she could stop it.

"What do you mean?" she asked, mitigating her wrath a little.

"Why, you know the story; the cockney woman who had a black eye, and
when the settlement worker asked her if her husband had given it to her
said, 'Bless you, no, miss--'e's more like a friend nor a 'usband!'"

"Oh," said Marjorie, smiling a little. Then she remembered, her eyes
falling on the yellow paper Francis still held. There was still much
to be settled between them.

"But, as you were saying about Mr. Logan----"

"I was saying a lot I hadn't any business to about Mr. Logan," said
Francis frankly.

"Then it's all right?" said Marjorie. "At least as far as you're
concerned?"

He nodded.

"Well," said she most unfairly, "it isn't, as far as I am. Francis, I
don't think we'd better think any more of ever trying to be married to
each other. It's too hard on the nervous system."

Francis colored deeply.

"What do you want to do?" he demanded.

Marjorie paused a minute before she answered. The truth was, she
didn't know. She had definitely given up her New York position. She
liked it up here, very much indeed. She liked the O'Maras and the
house, and she was wild to get outdoors and explore the woods. Leaving
Francis out of the question, she was freer than she had been for years.
Altogether it was a bit hard to be entirely moved by lofty
considerations. She wanted to stay; she knew that.

"Canada's a nice place," she began, dimpling a little and looking up at
Francis from under her