She was exactly as she would have been if all had gone well; and it is not to be supposed that Francis could help feeling it. At first he was quiet, almost gloomy; but presently, as she talked gaily on about all the trifles she could think of--domestic trifles all of them, or things to do with the cabin and its surroundings--he gave himself up to the enjoyment of the hour. It was as if he said to himself, "I'll forget for this little space of time that it isn't real." He looked absorbedly into the little vivid face at the other side of the table, and once, before he thought, put out his hand to take her hand where it lay, little and slim and fragile-looking, on the table. He drew it back quickly, but not before Marjorie had seen the instinctive motion. She smiled at him brilliantly, and touched him lightly on the shoulder as she passed. "Come, help me, Francis," she said. "This is our house, you know, and I mustn't do everything alone. And then I must hurry over to the other cabin, and look over my new kingdom, and it would be a shame to do it after your faithful slaves had gone to bed. They would have to get up and dress and stand at attention, wouldn't they, when they heard your august footstep?" She laughed openly at him as she went into the kitchen, and he followed her and helped her clear away obediently and smiling. "And now, we'll go over," she said, when everything was in place again. "Get me my long blue cape, Francis, please. It's hanging against the door in my room." He came and wrapped her in it, and crossed with her the space between the two cabins. "They're up yet," he said, and knocked on the door. CHAPTER VIII There was nothing surprising or exciting to behold when the door flew open, and the two entered. "Oh, I've met you before," said Marjorie politely to the man who had opened it. She had danced with him the night before, and it was pleasant to find that she had not to deal entirely with strangers. He was a tired-looking, middle-aged Englishman, with a tanned, plump face that had something whimsical and what Marjorie characterized to herself as motherly about it. And the fact that he was clad in a flannel shirt and very disreputable overalls did not make him the less distinctively gentle-bred. He greeted her courteously, and took out his pipe--a pipe that was even more disreputable than his clothes. "Mrs. Ellison wanted to come over to-night and see what she had to do," Francis explained. "You mean that you were in earnest about her volunteering to take Pierre's place?" demanded the Englishman, looking at the little smiling figure in pink organdy. "I know I look useless," interposed Marjorie for herself. "But Mr. Ellison will tell you that I really can work hard. If somebody will only show me a little about the routine I'll be all right." "I've taken over Pierre's job for the moment," he replied. "Assuredly I'll show you all I can. But it's rough work for a girl." Marjorie smiled on.