He jumped up and walked across the room to make sure. "Why, there's a silver-backed mirror, and a box of violet powder, and a package of safety pins."
"Pshaw!" she said. "Those might be on any angel's bureau. What else do you see?"
He fumbled a minute among the glass and silver and gave a quick sigh of surprise. "Here's your wedding ring."
"Bring it to me," she pleaded, and took the tiny golden circlet blindly from his hand and slipped it experimentally once or twice up and down her finger. "Yes, that's it," she assented, and handed it back to him. "Hurry—quick—before anybody comes."
"What do you want?" faltered Drew.
She reached up wilfully and yanked the bandage away from the corner of one eye.
"Why, put the ring back on my finger where it belongs!" she said. "We're going to begin all over again. Play that I am your wife!" she demanded tremulously.
Drew winced like raw flesh. "You are my wife," he cried. "You are! You are! You are!"
With all the strength that was left to her she groped out and drew his face down to her lips.
"Oh, I've invented a lots better game than that," she whispered. "If we're going to play any game at all—let's—play—that—I—love—you!"