"One shouldn't fall in love," Louise said, serenely, "they should walk squarely into it. That's what I shall do, when I get ready to
marry—— But I shall love Archibald as long as the good Lord will let me——"
She was trying to say it lightly, but a quiver of her voice betrayed her.
"Louise," Becky said, "what's the matter with Archibald? Is anything really the matter?"
Louise began to cry. "Archie saw the doctor to-day, and he won't promise anything—I made Arch tell me——"
"Oh, Louise." Becky's lips were white.
"Of course if he takes good care of himself, it may not be for years. You mustn't let him know that I told you, Becky. But I had to tell somebody. I've kept it all bottled up as if I were a stone image. And I'm not a stone image, and he's all I have."
She dabbed her eyes with a futile handkerchief. The tears dripped. "I must stop," she kept saying, "I shall look like a fright for dinner——"
But at dinner she showed no signs of her agitation. She had used powder and rouge with deft touches. She had followed Becky's example and wore white, a crisp organdie, with a high blue sash. With her bobbed hair and pink cheeks she was not unlike a painted doll. She carried a little blue fan with lacquered sticks, and she tapped the table as she talked to Major Prime. The tapping was the only sign of her inner agitation.
The Admiral's table that night seemed to Becky