"Oh, very well, Slow-Coach!" Marian lay back, with a resigned sniff. She pulled Empress up by her silver collar, and lay petting the big, satiny Persian, who purred like a happy windmill against her cheek. Her tired eyes wandered restlessly about the dim, high-ceiled old room. Of all the dreary lodgings on Beacon Hill, surely Roderick had picked out the most forlorn! Still, the old place was quiet and comfortable. And, as Roderick had remarked, his rooms were amazingly inexpensive. That had been an important point; especially since Marian's long, costly illness at college. That siege had been hard on Rod in many ways, she thought, with a mild twinge of self-reproach. In a way, those long weeks of suffering had come through her own fault. The college physician had warned her more than once that she was working and playing beyond her strength. Yet she felt extremely ill-used. "It wasn't nearly so bad, while I stayed in the infirmary at college." She sighed as she thought of her bright, airy room, the coming and going of the girls with their gay petting and sympathy, the roses and magazines and dainties. "But here, in this tiresome, lonely place! How can I expect to get well!" Here she lay, shut up in Rod's rooms, alone day after day, save for the vague, pottering kindnesses of Rod's vague old landlady. At night her brother would come home from his long day's work as cub draughtsman in the city engineer's office, too tired to talk. And Marian, forbidden by overstrained eyes to read, could only lie by the fire, and tease Empress, and fret the endless hours away. At last, with a deep breath, Rod laid down the letter. He pulled his chair beside her lounge. "Tired, Sis?" "Not very. What was your letter, Rod?" "I'll tell you pretty soon. Anything doing to-day?" "Isabel and Dorothy came in from Wellesley this morning, and brought me those lovely violets, and told me all about the Barn Swallows' masque dance last night. And the doctor came this afternoon." "H'm. What did he say?" Marian gloomed. "Just what he always says. 'No more study this year. Out-door life. Bread and milk and sleep.' Tiresome!" Roderick nodded. "Hard lines, Sister. And yet--" He dropped his sentence, and sat staring at the fire. "Rod! Are you never going to tell me what is in that letter?" "That letter? Oh, yes. Sure it won't tire you to talk business?" "Of course not." "Well, then--I have an offer of a new position. A splendid big one at that." "A new position? Truly?" Marian sat up, with brightening eyes. "Yes. But I'm not sure I can swing it." Rod's face clouded. "It demands a mighty competent engineer." "Well! Aren't you a competent engineer?" Marian gave his ear a mild tweak. "You're always underrating yourself, you old goose. Tell me about this. Quick." Rod's thoughtful face grew grave.