There was a reconciliation, but Edward was not as penitent as Mary thought he should have been. David became a sore point with both of them, and Edward, at least, was unfeignedly pleased at what he considered a happy solution of the difficulty. He was fond of Elizabeth, but it would certainly be more agreeable to have the whole house at his own disposal. He had always thought that Elizabeth’s little brown room would be the very place for his collections. He fell to estimating the probable cost of lining the whole wall-space with cabinets. Mary was not quite as pleased as Edward. “You know, Liz,” she said, “I am very _glad_ that David should marry. I think he wants a home. But I don’t think you ought to marry him until he’s _better_. He looks dreadful. And a fortnight’s engagement—I can’t _think_ what people will say—one ought to consider that.” “Oh, Molly, you are too young for the part of Mrs. Grundy,” said Elizabeth, laughing. Mary coloured and said: “It’s all very well, Liz, but people will talk.” “Well, Molly, and if they do? What is there for them to say? It is all very simple, really. No one can help seeing how ill David is, and I think every one would understand my wanting to be with him. People are really quite human and understanding if they are taken the right way.” “But a fortnight,” said Mary, frowning. “Why Liz, you will not be able to get your things!” And she was shocked beyond words when Elizabeth betrayed a complete indifference as to whether she had any new things at all. The wedding was fixed for the 3rd of April, and the days passed. David made the necessary arrangements with a growing sense of detachment. The matter was out of his hands. For a week the new drug gave him sleep, a sleep full of brilliant dreams, strange flashes of light, and bursts of unbearable colour. He woke from it with a blinding headache and a sense of strain beyond that induced by insomnia. Towards the end of the week he stopped taking the drug. The headache had become unendurable. This state was worse than the last. On the last day of March he came to Elizabeth and told her that their marriage must be deferred. “Ronnie Ellerton is very ill,” he said; “I can’t go away.” “But David, you _must_——” He shook his head. The obstinacy of illness was upon him. “I can’t—and I won’t,” he declared. Then, as if realising that he owed her some explanation, he added: “He’s so spoilt. Why are women such fools? He’s never been made to do anything he didn’t like. He won’t take food or medicine, and I’m the only person who has the least authority over him. And she’s half crazy with anxiety, poor soul. I have promised not to go until he’s round the corner. It’s only a matter of a day or two, so we must just put it off.” Elizabeth put her hand on his arm. “David, we need not put off the marriage,” she said in her most ordinary tones. “You see, if we are married, we could start off as soon as the child was better.”