"Dear little Rita," she exclaimed, suddenly and tenderly solemn—"I saw her the morning of the day she departed with John. And first of all I asked about you of course—you spoiled thing!—and then I asked about John. And we put our arms around each other and had a good, old-fashioned cry…. But—don't you think he is going to get well, Louis?"
"Sam's brother—Billy Ogilvy—wrote me that he would always have to live in Arizona. He can live there. But the East would be death to him."
"Can't he ever come back?" she asked pitifully.
"No, dear."
"But—but what will Rita do?"
He said: "I think that will depend on Rita. I think it depends on her already."
"Why?" she asked, wide-eyed. "Do you believe that John cares for her?"
"I know he does…. And I haven't much doubt that he wants to marry her."
"Do you think so? Oh, Louis—if that is true, what a heavenly future for Rita!"
"Heavenly? Out in that scorching desert?"