Up through the narrowest and least conspicuous path of all, one which few of the wedding revelers had noticed because its entrance was designedly unlighted, came a slim white figure with bent head. Peter, gazing dreamily out over the lawn, saw it at once, and recognised it with a start of gladness. Shirley came on across the velvety grass without looking up, and slowly ascended the porch steps with her eyes still cast down. Reaching the top, she turned about and stood leaning against the pillar, on the other side of which was Peter’s chair, without noticing his presence, staring off at the rainbow-tinted lights, and seeing a little misty halo about each one. When she had stood motionless there for some time, Peter spoke, so quietly that he hardly startled her. She turned about with a little choking breath, said, "Oh, is it you?" in a tone of relief, and resumed her former position. "I wish I could help make it easier," said Peter, very gently. "You ’ve made things easier for me so many times, first and last." "You do," said Shirley, in a half-whisper. "Do I? I’m glad. But how?" "Just by being there." Peter’s face lighted up. This was a most unusual tribute from his independent little friend. He got slowly to his crutches, and with a greater effort than he had yet made, came stumping round to her side of the pillar, and stood near her, leaning against a great green tub which held a towering palm. He felt somehow as if he must be literally upon his feet in order to stand by her in this crisis. Both were silent again for some minutes, until suddenly Shirley looked round at him, and exclaimed, "Why, I mustn’t let you stand like this! Please sit down again." "Not unless you do." "Why? I ’m not tired." "But I want to be near you. I ’ve done nothing all the evening but envy the men who could get about and do things for you." "You ’ll soon be walking off at your usual breakneck pace," said Shirley, the colour coming back with a rush into cheeks which had been pale since Olive went. "To the office--yes--your office. I can hardly wait. But I wonder sometimes if I can keep my wits and do my work there." "Why not?" "Don’t you know why?" Shirley’s little moist ball of a handkerchief was all at once being clutched very tight in her fingers. She shook her head. "I think you do. I think you must know why I ’m half out of my head with the prospect of being manager of the new house of Townsend & Son." "I ’m glad that you like the prospect," said Shirley, in the lowest of voices, and looking anywhere but at Peter. "Are you? Do _you_ like it?" "Very much." Peter forgot his crutches, and one of them fell with a rattle at Shirley’s feet. She would have bent to pick it up, but he prevented her, and laboriously reached for it himself. "I ’m not going," said Peter, deliberately, "to let you wait on me, when all in life I want is the chance to serve you--all my life."