"You went to a doctor?"
"The finest. Wanted to get down to facts, Dodo; find out what's going on inside."
"What did he say?" she asked breathlessly.
"He said it could be done!" said Lindaberry in a matter-of-fact way. "We talked over ways. But first, I thought I'd give you another chance."
"What do you mean?"
"Last night, out there—stars and all that—wasn't a fair start! How do you feel now with a practical old sun winking down at you?" he asked, with a quizzical smile that did not conceal the intensity of his suspended waiting.
"Oh, Mr. Lindaberry!" she said impulsively. "Do it for your own self! Be strong!"
"No," he said quietly; "I won't do it for myself. I'll make the fight for you—to please you, Dodo! You've got hold of me as no one ever has. And then you're not afraid, bless your childish eyes! Well, am I to do it for you?"
She was quiet a moment, thrown out of all her mental calculations by the swift electric appeal to her emotional self that came with his blunt declaration. Men had loved her sooner or later, mildly or with infatuation; but she had never before felt so deeply what she and a divine hazard could mean in one life. Her eyes filled with sudden tears.
"Do it for me!" she said gently, and the next moment her heart smote her as if she had been guilty of a second lie.