Marise glanced down at the plump, black-clad form quivering with emotion at the sight of Garth being shaken hands with and pounded on the back. "Yes, we are," she echoed kindly, for she would not have pained the dear woman for anything on earth. "I shall have my work cut out for me, while I'm in her house, if she expects me to be chorus for her adopted son," the transported favourite told herself. "But she is a darling, and I'll do my best for the few days I'm here, at--well, at _almost_ any price." When Garth's old friends had thrown themselves upon him like a tidal wave, the reflex action came, and they were willing to meet and be nice to his wife. Male and female, they saw that she was tremendously pretty and smart. Many knew who she was, and had heard of her success, even though they had never seen her on the stage. But what was a star of the theatre, compared with a hero of the war? Garth was It. Marise was only It's second fiddle. "Isn't he great?--fine?--wonderful?" were the adjectives flung at her head by gushing girls. "I suppose he lets you wear his V.C.?" a man pleasantly condescended. Everyone was sure, as Mothereen had been sure, that she must be "very proud" of the splendid husband she'd been lucky enough to catch. Marise smiled as she pictured what Mums' expression would have been among these adorers of the Fiend, the Brute, beings from another world, for whom the celebrated Miss Sorel was nobody. Really, the scene on this platform was like a village green in a comic opera, with all the minor characters dancing round the tenor! At last Garth--happy yet ill at ease and half ashamed--contrived to rescue his mother and wife. They got to the motor-car waiting outside the station; but there they collided with a new procession, belated yet enthusiastic. It was, "Garth forever!" again: more shouts of joy, more slaps, more introductions to the harmless, necessary bride. Even when the three had ambushed themselves in the car, boys hung on behind, singing, "For he's a jolly good fellow!" and girls threw flowers in at the windows. "This is the happiest hour of my life since I first met up with ye, Johnny dear," choked Mothereen, wiping her smiling eyes. "And I'm sure it's the same for you, isn't it, my child?" "Oh yes--ye-es!" responded Marise. Garth laughed. The town of Albuquerque was very Spanish-looking. Indeed, it would have been strange if it were not so, since the Spanish had built much of it in the Great Days of their prime, hundreds of years ago. It was on the outskirts of the place that Mrs. Mooney lived, in a house--as she explained to Marise--"architected for her by Johnny himself."