"Of course,--but need we--rub it in, just now?" The fact was that Honor was anxious. Carter was pallid, haggard, morose. The brief flare of composure with which he had greeted her was gone; he showed visibly and unpleasantly what he was suffering at the sight of their vivid and hearty happiness. Mrs. King had commented pityingly on it to Honor and it was simply not in the girl to go on adding to his misery. She began to be very firm with Jimsy about their long walks or rides alone; she accepted all Mrs. King's invitations and plans for them; she included Carter whenever it was possible. These restrictions had naturally the result of making Jimsy the more ardent in their scant privacy, and Honor, amazingly free from coquetry though she was, must have sensed it. Perhaps the truth was that she had in her, after all, something of Mildred Lorimer's feeling for values and conventions; having flown from Florence to Cordoba to her lover she was reclaiming a little of her aloofness and cool ladyhood by this discipline. But she was entirely honest in her wish to spare Carter so far as possible. Once, when Jimsy was briefly away with his Yaqui henchman she asked Carter to walk with her, but he decided for the dim _sala;_ the heat which seemed to invigorate and vitalize Jimsy left him limp and spent. He brushed her generalities roughly aside. "Are you happy, Honor?" She lifted her candid eyes to his bleak young face. "Yes, Cartie. Happier than ever before--and I've been happy all my life." He was silent for a moment as if sorting out and considering the things he might say to her. "Well, you have a marvelous effect on Jimsy. I don't believe he's taken a drop since you've been here." "He hasn't touched a drop since he came to Mexico, Carter,--Mr. King told me that, and Jimsy told me himself!" Honor was a little declamatory in her pride and he raised his eyebrows. "Really?" He limped over to the table where the smoking things were and the decanter of whiskey and siphon of soda. "Let me have a look...." He picked up the decanter and held it to the light. "The last time I looked at it, it came just to the top of the design here,--and it does yet. Yes, it's just where it was." "Carter! I call that spying!" He turned back to her without temper. "I call it looking after my friend," he said gently. "I don't suppose you've let him tell you very much about what happened at college?" "No, Carter. What's the use of it, now? He wrote it all to me, but the letter must have passed me. It's a closed chapter now." "I hope to God it will stay closed," he said, haggardly. "But I'm afraid, Honor; I'm horribly afraid for you."