She got up then and stood before him, her head thrown back in its old way, meaning to thank him courteously and in conventional phrase for what he had done, speaking in the effusive fashion which says so much and means so little, "You are very kind. We will take the staterooms and go at once. Thank you so much for your thoughtfulness." Thus would she build up the broken-down wall that must always be between them. But when she stood before him and looked into his stern set face, remembering all he had said to her, somehow the road stretched out interminably before her, and-- What she did was to reach out weak hands to him, saying brokenly, "Richard! I cannot go--without you." "Margaret!... _Margaret!_" * * * * * Five days later they sat together on the deck of the _Etruria_, outward bound. It was within an hour of the time of sailing and a mild bedlam reigned. Downstairs Mammy Cely was arranging things in the staterooms. Upstairs Philip, a shade over his eyes and a steamer rug thrown over him, was snuggled in the arms of his new father. The doctor had given them every hope. People were hurrying on to the steamer and out on the deck to talk with friends across the rails. _Farewells_ were being spoken, tears shed, and parting admonitions given. There was a confusion of sounds. "Goodbye!" "Where's the purser?" "Don't get sea-sick!" "No, indeed!" "Did you get the little bag?" "Why no--there were four." "Oh, _where's_ the purser?" Through this babel the deck steward was making his way with a letter held high. "Is Mr. De Jarnette here? A telegram for Mr. De Jarnette." Richard opened it without looking at the address. "It is for you," he said. Margaret in the chair beside him took the telegram and read: "Bill passed House this morning. President's signature assured. Hurrah! "Harcourt." She slipped her hand under the steamer rug into his, where Philip's lay. He closed upon them both. "Thank God!" she said softly, "for other mothers who need it." CHAPTER XLIV AS AFORETIME John Harcourt had asked Bess for a drive--a farewell view, he told her, of Capitol Vista, Rock Creek Park, the Zoo, and all the rest. He said it so cheerfully and with such unchecked flow of spirits that Bess, smothering an inward sob, summoned her woman's pride and matched his exhilaration with her own. But if the truth were known, and the truth is never known under just these circumstances to anybody or anything but the girl's inmost soul, she was feeling far from gay.