"Why, you know the story; the cockney woman who had a black eye, and when the settlement worker asked her if her husband had given it to her said, 'Bless you, no, miss--'e's more like a friend nor a 'usband!'" "Oh," said Marjorie, smiling a little. Then she remembered, her eyes falling on the yellow paper Francis still held. There was still much to be settled between them. "But, as you were saying about Mr. Logan----" "I was saying a lot I hadn't any business to about Mr. Logan," said Francis frankly. "Then it's all right?" said Marjorie. "At least as far as you're concerned?" He nodded. "Well," said she most unfairly, "it isn't, as far as I am. Francis, I don't think we'd better think any more of ever trying to be married to each other. It's too hard on the nervous system." Francis colored deeply. "What do you want to do?" he demanded. Marjorie paused a minute before she answered. The truth was, she didn't know. She had definitely given up her New York position. She liked it up here, very much indeed. She liked the O'Maras and the house, and she was wild to get outdoors and explore the woods. Leaving Francis out of the question, she was freer than she had been for years. Altogether it was a bit hard to be entirely moved by lofty considerations. She wanted to stay; she knew that. "Canada's a nice place," she began, dimpling a little and looking up at Francis from under her eyelashes. "Oh, then----" he began eagerly. "And I want to stay, for perfectly selfish reasons," she went on serenely. "But if my staying makes you think that there is any hope of--of eventualities--I think I'd better go. In other words, I like the idea of a vacation here. That's all. If you are willing to have me as selfish as all that, why, it's up to you. I think myself I'm a pig." "You will stay, but not with any idea of learning to like me better--is that it?" "That's it," she said. "And, as I said, I feel colossally selfish--a regular Hun or something." "That's because you used the word 'colossal,'" he said absently. "They did, a lot. All right, my dear. That's fair enough. Yes, I'm willing." "But no tempers, mind, and no expectations!" said Marjorie firmly, making hay while the sun shone. "No," said Francis. He looked at her appraisingly. "You know," he remarked, "the gamble isn't all one way. It's just possible that I may be as glad as you not to see the thing through when we've seen something of each other. I don't feel that way now, but there's no telling." She sprang to her feet, angry as he had been. But he had turned, after he said that, and gone quietly downstairs. The idea was new to her, and correspondingly annoying. Francis--Francis, who had been spending all his time since he got back trying to win her--Francis suggesting that he might tire of her! Why, people didn't _do_ such things! And if he expected to tire of her what did he want her for at all?