“Why don’t you marry him, now you’ve got a divorce?” the child rushed on with the ruthless innocence of her age. The colour poured into Mollie’s cheeks. “How you talk!” she gasped. “About things you know nothing about. He—Colonel McClintock—has been a good friend to us. You mustn’t get foolish notions.” “They’re _not_ foolish.” She had Mollie in her arms once more. “Why don’t you marry him, dearest? I would. I’d snap him up. ’N him a hero—decorated for bravery, like the _Enterprise_ said.” Mollie’s eyes fell. “You mustn’t talk that way,” she breathed tremulously. “You’re only a girl, and you don’t know anything about it.” “But I just do,” triumphed Vicky. “You think you’d stand in his way or _somep’n_ now he’s a big officer. Or you think——” “I think your imagination is too active, dear,” Mollie countered drily. “You haven’t the least reason to think there is anything but friendship between me and Colonel McClintock.” Vicky caught her by the shoulders. “Sister Mollie, can you tell me, honest Injun, that you don’t love him?” The gaze of Mollie wavered before the steady searching eyes of inexorable youth. “Or that he doesn’t care for you?” Vicky went on. There was a mist of tears in Mollie’s eyes. “How do I know? I haven’t seen him for years. Maybe he doesn’t—any longer——” The girl protested vigorously. “Don’t you know him better’n that? Of _course_ he does. You’ll see.” The pent-up secret of Mollie’s heart came out tremulously. “I sent him away. I told him to forget me. Men don’t remember always—like we women do.” Vicky took active charge of the campaign. “I’ll tell you what, Sister Mollie. You put on that blue-print dress, the one with the flowered pattern—an’ lemme fix your hair—an’ when you see him forget every single thing except how glad you are to see him.” Light-footed and swift, Vicky moved about the room making ready for the transformation of her sister. She was a girl given at times to silences, but just now she was voluble as a magpie. Her purpose was to divert Mollie’s thoughts from herself for the present. After the flowered dress had been donned and the soft thick hair arranged to Vicky’s satisfaction, that young lady stood back and clapped her hands. “Come into the parlour and look at the sweetest and prettiest thing in Carson,” she cried, catching her sister’s hand and dragging her forward. “If Colonel McClintock doesn’t think you’re _just dear_, it’ll be because he’s gone blind.” Mollie took one look in the glass, then caught at the sideboard to steady herself. For a voice from the doorway answered Vicky’s prophecy. “He does think so, just as he always has.” Scot came across the room in three long strides and swept Mollie into his arms. The breath of life flooded her cheeks and flung out a flag of joy. Her soldier had come home from the wars. He still wanted her. “You’ve heard,” she cried. “That the courts have freed you. Of course.”