"I do see! So is everybody else--here, it seems." "They're warm-hearted folks out in the West. They love to make a noise. I hope you weren't disgusted." "No, I liked them," said Marise. "They seemed so sincere. And Mrs. Mooney is the dearest little woman. I'd have my tongue cut out--almost!--rather than she should be sad. But now the question is, what's to be done? I tried to help you. You must help me." "I will," Garth assured her. "It's going to be all right." "But how--without hurting her?" Marise looked round the room. "You can't sleep on that little sofa." "I can sleep on the floor rolled up in a blanket. That would have seemed a soft billet in France." "You'd be wretchedly uncomfortable. And how would you bathe?" "I guess you don't need to worry yourself about that detail. I'll manage the business in one way or other." "That sounds vague! What's become of the room which used to be yours in this house, before you went to the war?" "Your bedroom next door is the one. The only spare room we had in those days was this, where we're sitting now. We never had any people come to stay, though, so Mothereen turned it into a sewing-room." "I see! And you can't slip out to an hotel or anywhere, because every human being in town knows you." "No, I can't slip out. But--well, we _are_ married!" Marise started, and stared. Her eyes opened wide. She looked ready to spring up and run away. "All I was going to say is this," Garth went on. "There's a big screen or two in your room, I noticed. Perhaps, as you're kind enough not to want me to go unwashed, you'd stretch a point, and let me walk through to the bath with a couple of screens in position. We needn't stay more than two days and nights, the way things have turned out. Mothereen will be disappointed, but her feelings won't be hurt because I shall take steps to get a wire from a friend of mine at the Grand Canyon. The friend will tell me that I'm needed at once on a matter of importance. That'll do the trick. And Mothereen can make up for lost time by visiting me--us, at Vision House." "Vision House!" "Yes, I named it that. You wouldn't be interested in the reason why." Marise felt that she would be interested, but didn't care to say so. "You wouldn't mind her coming to the Canyon?" he asked. "Of course not! I should be delighted. That is, if I were there." "You would be there." "I mightn't. You see--things will change. Mums will come, and--and--I shall go away--with her. You know what will happen." "Who knows anything about the future? But let it take care of itself. There's plenty to think of in the present, isn't there?" "Too much!" "Not for me. Can you bring yourself to agree to that plan I proposed? The screen----" "Oh, I suppose it's the only thing to do! I've played bedroom scenes on the stage, and this----" "Very well. That's settled, then." "Ye-es. Except--about your belongings. I suppose Mrs. Mooney is sure to run in now and then to see how--we--are getting on."