"Come and sit here, Frank. Then you can tell me about it."
Phyllis looked up at him in that tender, mothering way she had learned in her years of care for her only parent.
The man obeyed, and, for the first time since he had left Sam Bernard's farm that morning, a genuine smile of something like contentment lit his hitherto somber face.
"Phyl," he cried suddenly, "you—you make me feel better already. You—oh, it's wonderful the influence you exercise over me. I——"
He broke off, and, seizing her two hands, bent over and kissed her on the lips.
"That's better," the girl exclaimed happily, when he had released her. "When two people really love each other they can generally manage to set the worst of any shadows scooting off to the dark places they belong."
The man smiled in spite of himself.
"But—but it's serious. It really is. It's simply awful."
The girl's eyes were just a shade anxious, but her manner was lightly tender.
"Of course it is. It surely is. Say, Frank, everything's awful that makes us unhappy. And I guess something's made you real unhappy. Now, just get very busy and tell me all about it."