“You are ill; please come up and lie down and let me bring you a cup of tea,” said Marjory, a few minutes later, as she noticed the shadows under Mrs. Coates’s eyes, “and I’ll shut up this tell-tale room and put it in order to-morrow.” “I’m afraid if I do that I shall miss my train, for if I once give in, these headaches always last until sunset.” “Then please miss your train, and stay all night. Please let me telephone home for you,” said Marjory, with a ring of sincerity in her voice; “my little spare room isn’t a sham, and I can smooth headachy foreheads beautifully, mummy used to say. If your head is better at sunset, you can come to ‘just as we are’ tea on the porch, and Billy will be home by then.” Then Marjory’s voice dropped to a sort of purr in unconscious hypnotism. “A cool, thin wrapper—a cup of tea—and cologne on your head? Yes? You will?” Soon Mrs. Coates found herself relaxing under Marjory’s soft touch, being gently undressed, and discomfort vanishing, while cool hands unloosed her hair that had never been smoothed by a daughter, or touched by unpaid help since she was a child. * * * * * “Oh, Billy, she came, she has a headache, she’s actually asleep up in the spare room, and she’s going to stay all night; aren’t you pleased?” was Marjory’s greeting, as she clung to his neck, and swiftly passed her hands over his face as though she could not trust the evidence of her eyes alone that he was all there. “But, Billy, if I ever have quality company again, don’t go away. It’s—I’m so silly, I mean nervous, you know.” Then she felt a desire for time; and inwardly prayed that no ill chance should lead him into that dining room just yet. “Pleased? I should say I am, but it’s no more than I expected;” and in this he was perfectly in earnest. Then Marjory ran off, dragging him after her, for fresh sweet peas and bluets to decorate the little white wood supper-table on the porch, where in due time the wife of the Head of the Firm joined them, refreshed, and her headache gone, while she delighted June by the justice she did to her iced coffee and fried chicken, “Maryland style,” as the bills of fare word it. Marjory chancing to step indoors to light the lamp, Billy drew his chair confidentially toward the lady of quality, for Billy was one of the rare men who could always be confidential without giving offence. “Don’t you see I didn’t exaggerate, Mrs. Coates, when I said that Marjory and this sort of simple living were made for each other?” “No, you didn’t exaggerate,” she replied, a little reminiscent smile fluttering about her mouth. “You really underrated your wife, for you did not tell me that she has a delicious sense of humour, a very good quality for the wife of a lawyer who is about to become the junior member of a prominent firm, and a quality of saving grace to be copied by the lawyer himself.”