"He has been saving my life," panted Jean.
"Well," replied Esmerald Thorne, "he can."
When the two men went downstairs, the doctor said,—
"Your pardon,—if I wronged you, Avery?" for he was generous in apology for so imperious a man.
"Why, yes, doctor," returned the husband, with a puzzled face, "I think you did."
Jean lay quietly on the blue lounge. Pink and the baby were taken over to Helen's. The house was unnaturally still. Marshall was coming home in the middle of the afternoon to see her—to see her! The sick woman seemed to herself for that span of peace like a bride again, cherished and happy. Care and illness had never occurred. Life had not dulled the eyes of love. Use had never threatened joy with indifference. This word, that deed, such a scene, all were phantasms of the fog into which she had fallen. She must have grown morbid, as the sick do. Oh, the rose-red star hung in the heavens yet!
His key clicked in the lock, and he came running up the stairs; dashed in, and knelt beside the lounge; then put his arm about her quietly, for he was shocked when he saw how she looked. His dark, fine face was broken with his feeling. Hers quivered as she lifted it to his kiss.
"Did you lose the case, poor dear?" she said.
"Curse the case!" cried Avery. "What's a case? ... I 'm not going gunning, Jean. I 'm going to stay with you."
Color brushed all over her wan cheek, her brow, her lips.