"What a pretty room!" she cried out, as, with a proud housewifely look, Mothereen flung open a door. "Why, it's lovely! Is this mine?" "Of course it's yours, darlin'--yours and Johnny's," said Mothereen, beaming with pleasure at such praise. "Come and look out of the window, ducky. John knows what's there, but 'twill be a surprise for you." Still clasped by the plump arm, Marise crossed the polished floor, which was spread with beautiful Indian rugs. The walls were white, and hung with a few good pictures of desert scenery and strange Indian mesas. The furniture was simple, but interesting: made of eucalyptus wood, pink as faded rose-leaves against its white background; and everywhere were bowls of curious Egyptian-looking Indian pottery, filled with roses. The one immense window took up nearly all one end of the room, and opened Spanish fashion upon a garden-court with a fountain, a marble bench, and a number of small orange trees grouped together to shade the seat. "'Twas Johnny's idea," Mothereen explained, when Marise had complimented the court. "The next room looks on it, too. And now ye'd both better come and see what I've done with that same!" She led the way out again, and opened the door of an adjoining room. "I do hope ye'll like it too!" she said. "It's yer own little sittin'-room, and you two turtle-doves can have yer breakfast here by yerselves if ye like." With all her goodwill towards "Mothereen," Marise could not repress a slight gasp, or a stiffening of the supple young figure belted by the kind woman's arm; for her first glimpse of the room gave her an electric shock. The room _was_ a "sittin'-room," and nothing else. "Is anything wrong, darlin'?" anxiously asked Mothereen. Marise hesitated. Involuntarily she glanced over her shoulder at Garth, who was close behind. She met his eyes, which implored hers. "Oh no, indeed!" the girl protested. "It's--it's charming. I was thinking of something else for an instant." "Ye're _sure_ everything's all right?" Mothereen persisted, her pretty brows puckered. "Quite sure. Thank you _so_ much!" "Nothing ye'd like to have me change?" "Nothing at all," Marise consoled her, in a strained tone. "Well then, I'm glad, and I'll leave ye to yerselves for a while. Come out to me when ye feel like it and not before--one or both. And ye'll be welcome as the flowers in May." She kissed Marise and snuggled her cheek, rosy and fresh as an apple, against the arm of her adopted son. Then she was gone with a parting smile, and Garth shut the door. "That was mighty fine behaviour of yours, and I thank you with all my heart," he said to Marise. She had dropped into a chair, tremulous about the knees. "You needn't thank me," she answered. "What I did was for _her_." "I know. That's why I thank you," said Garth. "I think a lot more about Mothereen's feelings than I do my own. Mine are case-hardened--hers aren't, and never could be. You see, she's fond of me."