"But what are we women to do here?" I exclaimed half impatiently. My busy working life in the city, with the consequent pressure that made itself felt every hour of the day, and burdened me at night with the dreadful "what next if strength and health should fail?", had unfitted me in part for the continued quiet of domesticity. I found myself beginning to chafe under it, now that the house was settled. I wanted more work to fill my time. "Better ask Ewart," said Jamie to tease me. "I will." I spoke decidedly and gave Jamie a surprise. "I 'll speak to him the very first time I get the chance. He has n't given me one yet." "You 're right there, Marcia. I noticed you and the Doctor were great chums from the first, but Ewart has n't said much to you--he is so different, though, as mother says. It takes time to know Ewart, and sometimes--" "What 'sometimes'?" "Sometimes when I think I know him, I find I don't. That interests me. You 'll have the same experience when you get well acquainted with him." "There is no monotony about that at any rate." "I should say not." He spoke emphatically. Mrs. Macleod turned to me. "I 'm sure I feel just as you do, Marcia, about the 'what next'. I don't know of anything except to keep house and provide for the meals--" "That's no sinecure in this climate, mother. Such appetites! Even Marcia is developing a bank holiday one." "And gaining both color and flesh," said Mrs. Macleod, looking me over approvingly. I dropped her a curtsey which surprised her Scotch staidness and amused Jamie. "Are you _sure_ you are twenty-six?" He smiled quizzically. "As sure as you are of your three and twenty years." Jamie turned from the window, took a book and dipped into it. I thought he was lost to us for the next two hours. Mrs. Macleod left the room. "Sometimes I feel a hundred." Jamie spoke thoughtfully. "And I a hundred and ten." I responded quickly to his mood. "You 're bound to go me ten better. But no--have you, though?" I nodded emphatically. "Where?" "Oh, in New York." "Why in New York?" "You don't know it?" "No; but I mean to." "I wish you joy." "Tell me why in New York." "You would n't understand." "Would n't I? Try me." I looked up at him as he stood there thoughtful, his forefinger between the leaves of the book. _He_ had no living to earn. _He_ had not to bear the burden and heat of an earned existence. How could he understand? So I questioned in my narrowness of outlook. "I felt the burden," I answered. "What burden?" "The burden of--oh, I can't tell exactly; the burden of just that terrible weight of life as it is lived there. Before I was ill it weighed on me so I felt old, sometimes centuries old--" Jamie leaned forward eagerly, his face alive with feeling. "Marcia, that's just the way I felt when I was in the hospital. I was bowed down in spirit with it--" "You?" I asked in amazement.