Jack arose and walked about the room. The idea of his darling sickening herself to provide smoke for Aunt Mary braced him afresh to the conflict. “What do you do all day?” he asked, presently. “Well, we do most everythin’. When Lucinda’s out she does Lucinda for me an’ when Lucinda’s in she does Joshua. It’s about as amusin’ as anythin’ you ever saw to see her do Lucinda. I never found Lucinda amusin’, Lord knows, but I like to see Granite do her. An’ we play cards, an’ she dances, an’—” “Aunt Mary,” said Jack abruptly, “do you know the people who had Janice want her back again?” “I didn’t quite catch that,” said his aunt, “but you needn’t bother to repeat it because I ain’t never goin’ to let her go. Not never.” Jack came back and sat down beside the bed, and took her hand. “Aunt Mary,” he said in a pleading shriek, “don’t you see how pale and thin she’s getting?” “No, I don’t,” said his aunt, turning her head away, “an’ it’s no use tellin’ me such things because it’s about my nap-time and I’ve always been a great believer in takin’ my nap when it’s my nap-time. As a general thing.” Jack sighed and watched her close her eyes and go instantly to sleep. Janice came in a few minutes later. “No—no,” she whispered hastily, as he came toward her,—“you mustn’t—you mustn’t. I don’t believe that she really is asleep and even if she is, Lucinda is _everywhere_.” “Where can we go?” Jack asked in despair. “It’s out of all reason to expect me to behave all the time.” “We can’t go anywhere,” said Mrs. Rosscott; “we must resign ourselves. I’ve learned that it’s the only way. Dear me, when I think how long I’ve been resigned it certainly seems to me that you might do a little in the same line.” “Well, but I haven’t learned to resign myself,” said her lover, “and what is more, I positively decline to learn to resign myself. You should do the same, too. Where is the sense in humoring her so? I wouldn’t if I were you.” Janice lifted up her lovely eyes. “Oh, yes, you would,” she said simply. “If somebody’s future happiness depended upon her you would humor her just as much as I do.” Jack was touched. “You are an angel of unselfishness,” he exclaimed, warmly, “and I don’t deserve such devotion.” “Oh, don’t be too grateful,” she replied, dimpling. “The person to whose future happiness I referred was myself.” They both laughed softly at that—softly and mutually. “Nevertheless,” Jack went on after a minute, “if to all the other puzzles is to be added the torture of being unable to see you or speak freely to you, I think the hour for action has arrived.” “For action!” she cried; “what are you thinking of doing?” “This,” he said, and straightway took her into his arms and kissed her as he had kissed her on the night before.