"I think you are," said I. "Such extravagance! Delusions of grandeur. But, anyway, I'd rather we built our own house--" "So would I," said Bill, with satisfaction. "Couldn't we add to the Green Hill house?" I asked, "an office for you--and more rooms? Do you mind?" I said. "So much of me is in that house. I don't want to forget those years--. And I was born there. My Mother came there as a bride--and I think Father will want us to live there always--unless," I added careful, "you have other plans, Doctor Denton?" Bill laughed. "No. When we get home, if your Father is willing, I'll turn you loose with painters and carpenters and decorators--as long as I may always smoke, even in the 'best parlour' and as long as you don't banish me and my bottles to the garage--for we'll have to have a garage, you know, and I've spoken to Silas about that little house in the garden. There's lots of room." "Chintz," I said dreamily, "creton,--lots of it--and another fireplace--and oodles of bookshelves. Bill, may I dig in the garden next summer?" "I shouldn't wonder," he answered cheerfully. "You're really remarkably strong--beyond my wildest hopes. I was amazed to see how soon you recovered from the effects of the fire--" I looked at the little scars on my hands. They would go, eventually, I knew. Bill had said so. I was a little sorry. "Were you?" I asked. "But I had a very good doctor, and wonderful medicine--" He kissed me, to the horror of a passing elderly couple. "Then," said I, straightening my cap, "you'll practise in Green Hill, after all? People will say you'll be burying yourself there--" "Let 'em," said Bill. "I shall have time, at last, for all the things I want to do. Time, ambition and encouragement. We'll have a laboratory--away from the house, so your little nose won't be offended and turn up even more--" "It doesn't," said I, one hand to the insulted feature. "It does. Don't contradict. I love it!--A laboratory," he went on, "and I can work again on that cancer-cure--" "Oh, Bill," I said, "isn't it wonderful? To think that perhaps you can bring a blessing to all the world, and I may help--a little--" We were silent for a while--such a comfortable, understanding silence. "Aunt Mavis," said Peter, appearing suddenly on deck, "Sarah has gone to bed!" "Is she ill?" I asked, viewing the water, which was like blue glass. "Not yet," said Peter gravely, "but she says she's taking no chances!" "Poor Sarah!" I said, as Bill laughed. "Stay here with your uncle, Peterkins, and I'll go and see if I can do anything for her." When I returned, I found my young charge and my husband hanging perilously over the rail, watching the antics of the flying-fish. "Aren't they pretty?" I asked, joining them, "like tiny, colored aeroplanes."