Lane Maitland, as he rode away with the doctor, who was going to drop him at a garage where he had left his own car for a slight repair, studied the doctor's grave face awhile before he spoke.
"Is Mrs. Mayberry going to get well, Dr. MacPherson?" he asked quietly.
The doctor gave him a keen glance.
"I'm not sure," he said thoughtfully. "If she pulls through the next day or two, she may pick up. But it depends on several things even then. How well do you know the Mayberrys? You used to live next door, didn't you?"
"Yes, five years ago before we went to the West Coast. I knew them pretty well. Maris was in my class in high school."
"Yes, I thought so. You and Maris used to play tennis over at the old court by the women's club, didn't you? I thought I remembered. Well, I suppose you've kept in touch with them from time to time, haven't you?"
"Well, not very closely," said Lane. "You know kids don't spend much time writing letters. But they were the first people I wanted to see when I got back. They were real people. Mrs. Mayberry was like a mother to me after my own mother died. She took care of me when I was sick once. I think a lot of her. I went around to the house with Merrick this morning, the first place I've been since I struck the town, just to see Mrs. Mayberry, and we found her lying on the floor in the kitchen. I haven't had a chance to ask any questions yet. I don't know whether she's been ill before, or whether this is a first attack or what."
"I guess it's what," said the doctor speculatively. "The whole trouble is the woman is worn out, I think. She's worked too hard and hasn't stopped to consider herself. To tell you the truth, when I came in I thought she was gone. There didn't seem to be any heartbeat at all. But she was coming up wonderfully when I left. Unless there's another setback, she may pull out this time without any serious harm. Then again, the least little thing might blow her out like a candle. I'm not just sure how far her heart is involved. She's been a wonderfully wiry little woman with a lot of nerve and courage. You see, Mr. Mayberry was pretty hard struck by the Depression, almost lost his business and his house, but managed to keep on his feet, and now I believe he is weathering it pretty well. But she's stood by him through thick and thin and done more work than she should, and been up late nights. You knew the daughter, Maris, was making a grand marriage, didn't you?"
"Merrick said something about a wedding as we came in, but I didn't quite catch the drift. He seemed to think it had something to do with his mother's condition."
"Yes, I shouldn't wonder. Maris is marrying into swelldom. A big snob, if you ask me. But don't say I said so. Of course, he's rich and painfully good looking, but she's too nice a little girl to let that count for everything. Oh, I guess he's all right, decent and all that, but acts like he was frozen in the making. Wait till you meet him. However, I wouldn't wonder if it has been rather hard to keep up to the social standards of his set. Not that the Mayberrys aren't every bit as good socially, and better, than the Thorpes, only they're not so afraid people won't know it. But I imagine there's been a lot of hard work and worry connected with trying to get ready all the fuss and feathers the Thorpes would expect. That's all. The good little mother is just worn out."
"But you think she could get well?"
"Yes, I think--I hope she could. That is, if she pulls through the next few days, she'd have a chance. But--there's more to it than that. She needs a quiet place away from everything that could possibly worry her. A place where she wouldn't hear anything but the clouds going by, and the flowers growing, and a bird or two now and then. If she could have about six months to a year in a place like that, yes, I'd say there was a good chance she might be her old self again and live out a healthy life. But I don't know how they could ever afford a place like that."
Lane Maitland was still for a whole block, and then he said thoughtfully, "I know a place like that, and it's standing idle. Let me know if it's needed, will you, Doctor?"
"I certainly will, son. And maybe I will let you know soon. And then again--I might not get the chance. You can't tell. But I'll not forget."
Lane stopped at his garage and picked up his car. He drove thoughtfully back to the Mayberrys' to get Merrick and take him after Sally. But he said nothing to Merrick about his talk with the doctor. He was remembering Maris when she was fourteen with her gold hair like a halo and her eyes shining. He used to carry her books home for her every day from school that last year before he went away. He wondered why he'd never kept up the correspondence with Maris. Only a Christmas card or two, and then they had lost sight of each other!
But something had to be done to help Mother Mayberry get well.
Then suddenly Merrick spoke.
"It's that doggone wedding that's got Mother's goat!" he broke forth. "I don't see why Maris doesn't see it."
"What could she do about it if she did?" asked Lane gravely.
"Well, that's just it. It seems that when a girl lets herself think she's in love with a man, that's the end of her. She's mesmerized or something. She has to do just exactly what he tells her to, no matter if the whole family is going to the dogs on account of it."
Lane considered this and then asked, "Is Maris in love with this man? Really in love?"
"Oh, gosh! How should I know? What is love, anyway? Thank goodness I've never been in love yet, but when I see any signs of it in myself I hope I'll have sense enough to consider whether my family that have loved me and slaved for me all my life are going to be alienated by it. It isn't right. It isn't reason."
"No," said Maitland, "it isn't right, but what are you going to do about it? The world has been going on that way pretty much ever since it was made, I guess. Of course, people ought to consider, but they don't. It's just glamour, I suppose, and you can't help yourself. But what's the matter with Maris's man? Isn't he all right?"
"All right? Well, I suppose most folks think he is. I guess he has pretty much that opinion of himself, but not me! Oh, how we don't love each other! I tell you, when this wedding is over he and I are going to be the most unloving brothers-in-law that ever were mismatched. And I don't mean maybe. And as for my mother and his mother, they're about as much alike as a wood thrush and a turkey."
"Not a very pleasant outlook," said Maitland, "but how does your sister reconcile all this?"
"My sister? Oh, she's crazy! That's what I say; love makes you crazy. You don't know what you're doing when you get in love. I hope I never get that way. Why, he rushed her, see? Took her out in his limousine. All the girls thinking he's grand just because he has curly eyelashes and wavy hair. He got her a great hog of a diamond, and he's taking her on a trip to Europe for the honeymoon, and she's completely numbed. She doesn't know what it's all about yet. She'll wake up sometime when it's too late and see what she's done to all of us, and to herself! I only hope our mother doesn't have to die to make her see!"
"She mustn't!" said Lane Maitland. "We mustn't let her! You know, I had a kind of a share in her, too. She nursed me through typhoid, and I'll never forget it."
"So she did, brother. You're one of us. Mother thought a lot of you."
"Well, look here, Merrick, I want you to promise me something. I want you to give me your word of honor that you will let me help just as if I were a real son and brother, will you?"
Merrick gave him a look of appreciation that held almost a hint of surprise.
"Why, sure, Lane, but I don't see how you could help just now. Oh, errands and things like that. Sure, we'll count on you, and love to do it. But----you sort of speak as if you had some inside information. The doctor didn't say anything leery about Mother, did he?"
"He said she was tired out. He said she needed a long rest. And if it comes to that, I've got just the place. I want you to promise if she has to go away you'll call on me."
"Sure I will, and don't you be afraid I'll forget it, either. That's great! But here's Sally's house, and I imagine we'd better get her back as soon as possible to the kitchen, for there's plenty for her to do there, I guess. Let's hope she's at home."
But just then Sally appeared at her door, curiously peering out to see what car was stopping before her place.
"Oh, there you are, Sally. Can you come along with us right away?" called Merrick. "Mother's been taken very sick, and we need you all kinds."
"Sure I'll come, Mr. Merrick! Your ma sick! Now I jes' thought 'twould end up that way. I was so sure, I didn't unpack my things much. I'll get my workin' clothes and come right in a little minute."
And true to her word, Sally didn't take long. She was soon out lugging a neat suitcase and climbing into the backseat of the car.
As they turned into the home street, Merrick sighted the limousine standing before the door.
"What the dickens!" He began scowling. "Why does that boob have to barge in on us when he knows we don't want him around?"
And then as the doctor's car shot around the corner and drew up behind the limousine, "Great Scott! Is that the doctor again? I thought he had to be at the hospital all the rest of the morning. He didn't tell you he was coming back, did he? You don't suppose Mother's worse, do you? You don't suppose they've sent for him again, do you?" And with a white face, Merrick leaned over, opened the door, and was out on the sidewalk before the car had really stopped.
"Easy, boy!" warned Maitland in a low tone. "Remember, it's important there be no noise!"
Merrick nodded and flung himself silently across the lawn and in at the door, his heart beating wildly, anxiously.
The doctor was there before him, though, and bending over the bed. Maris made way for him and slipped out into the hall.
"Mother wasn't breathing right and the nurse sent for him," she whispered to her brother, her white, anxious face showing him that there was still cause for alarm.
Solemnly the sister and brother stood together, breathless, watching what went on in the sickroom, grasping each other's hands without realizing it as their anxiety increased.
The doctor was very grave at first. They could tell by the way he touched the pulse, by his low-toned inquiries to the nurse, by the way he listened to the heart, that this was no light matter. It seemed a long time before the tenseness around the bedside decreased, and fear seemed to be vanquished, sliding out of the room once more. It was almost as if the room itself had drawn a sigh of release at the respite. Glancing at their father on the other side of the bed, still holding his wife's hand, they could see that the grayness was breaking about his eyes and lips once more, and hope was dawning again on his face. They hardly dared be sure till they heard the doctor's voice in a low murmur to the nurse: "That was a close shave," and saw her nodded response. They welcomed her alert, hopeful movements as they watched her putting the medicine glass on the table and writing something on the report card.
Then, and not till then, they withdrew to the hall window.
"What's the idea of that chauffeur out there?" murmured Merrick resentfully. "Is he waiting for something?"
Then suddenly Maris remembered.
"Oh!" she said, the color coming back into her white face. "I forgot! He's waiting for an answer to a note."
"Well, you'd better let me go down and tell him you haven't time to write any answers now, that your mother has been near death's door again. You look fit to go to bed yourself."
"No!" said Maris quickly. "I must write it. You wouldn't understand. It won't take but a minute! Lend me your pencil."
Maris took the pencil and wrote on the back of the crumpled letter.
Please do not send the dress. I cannot accept it on any condition. If it comes here, I shall call the shop and tell them it is a mistake. You do not understand how you have hurt me. Mother is worse. I have no time to write more.
Maris
She slipped it into an envelope and went down to the waiting chauffeur. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting," she said, "but my mother was taken very sick again. I have had no time to write but a line."
But even as the chauffeur took the note and turned to go, Maris, to her dismay, saw a handsome delivery truck drive up and stop. A man in a plum-colored uniform with silver buttons got out and came up the walk bearing a mammoth white box tenderly.
Maris, with hardening countenance, stood and watched him come. She mustn't let him ring that terrible bell again, and she must remember to muffle it as soon as he was gone.
"Are you from Leon Archer's shop?" she asked. "Well, this is a mistake. You'll have to take it back. I just found out that it had been ordered and was about to call up and tell them not to send it."
"But I was told to leave it here, ma'am!" said the man.
"Yes, but I'm telling you to take it back. I cannot receive it. It was a misunderstanding. I will call the shop immediately and explain."
Reluctantly the man turned with his magnificent box and went back to the truck, and Maris hurried to the kitchen to see what she could do to suppress the bell.
But she found Lane Maitland there ahead of her, perched on the stepladder, working away at the bell, which already showed signs of submission.
"Oh," said Maris with relief, "how did you know what I wanted?"
"Well, you see, I remembered that bell of old. You won't recall it likely, but I was sick in this house once, and I know how that bell used to go through my head when my fever was the worst."
"You're Lane Maitland, aren't you? I haven't had time to recognize you before. Of course I remember. Didn't I play jigsaw puzzles with you when you were getting well? You've been very kind. I don't know how you happened to be here after this long absence, but I'm really grateful."
She gave him a tired little smile, and he grinned back like an old chum.
"That's all right; I'm here and you can just count on me for anything I can do to help. I'm only too glad to get the chance to pay back some of the kindness I received. Is your mother worse that the doctor came back?"
"She was," said Maris, the trouble starting in her eyes again. "I think she is easier now. The doctor and nurse seem more cheerful. Now I must go back and see if I'm needed."
"Better lie down a bit yourself," advised Maitland. "You look rather all in."
"Perhaps I will after a little."
Then Sally eased in from the maid's room off the kitchen.
"Oh, Sally! I'm so glad you've come!" said Maris, and she almost choked with tears as she said it, her relief was so great.
"That's all right, Miss Maris. You just go lie down. I'll tend to all this," she said with a wave of her hand that included the disheveled kitchen. "I'll have a meal ready on time. Don't you worry."
"I'll wipe dishes and set the table for you, Sally," said Lane Maitland cheerfully. "It won't be the first time I've helped in this kitchen, will it?"
"Sure, you wiped dishes for me many a time, an' set tables, too. He's a good worker, Miss Maris. You run along. We'll get along fine!"
So Maris turned and went away, feeling suddenly that she must sit down quickly or lie down, or she would presently crumple up on the floor the way her mother had done that morning.
She flung herself down on her own bed for a minute, trying to get rid of that whirly feeling, and as her head sank into her pillow it seemed that all her troubles rushed over her at once. Mother sick, dear Mother! Of course, that was the worst. And the possibility that even if she should get well she would be an invalid all her life. How could the family get on without her?
For the moment her own marriage had sunk out of sight. Never once in all her bright plans had she considered the possibility of Mother out of the picture, and herself away across the ocean where she couldn't help. Now it suddenly rushed over her as an impossibility to consider any such thing.
Well, she mustn't go on so far in the future. She could dare to live but one day at a time just now, perhaps only one hour. There was no telling what an hour might bring forth.
But there was the question of those invitations, and that dress! She hoped she had settled the dress, but there was no telling. Mrs. Thorpe had a very firm chin, and when she wanted a thing, she was in the habit of getting it. Would there have to be more battling? For she was determined on one thing. She would wear no other dress for her marriage than the one her precious mother had made. Even if it were not lovely and suitable, she would wear it anyway!
Well, she had done all she could about the dress for the present at least. If the Thorpes didn't like it, they could stand it. Of course, Tilford would be angry, and she would have him to deal with next. She had seen him in a towering rage with other people two or three times, and she did not look forward to the experience. But it didn't matter, did it? Not anything mattered till Mother got well. Why did such trifling, unimportant matters have to come in and torment her now, when her heart was wrung with anxiety? And there were those invitations. What should she do about them? That all-important date that the postmark was supposed to bear was rapidly passing by and could not be recalled. There would be a terrible rumpus among the Thorpes if the day went by without their being mailed. But it was unthinkable that she should invite people to her wedding when her mother lay at death's door! They surely couldn't expect that of her!
Yet, on the other hand, if Mother should suddenly get well and the wedding go on as planned--though in her heart she felt this was not in the least likely, hardly possible--if the day had to be changed to please the Thorpes' ideas about when the invitations should go out, that would mean that Father would have another awful expense. All those costly invitations engraved over again! Oh, she couldn't do that to Father.
Well, and suppose she simply mailed them as had been planned all along, and then they all had to be recalled? Oh, it was too much of a problem for her weary mind to work out. She turned her head on her pillow and let slow tears trickle down her cheeks.
Oh, God, she suddenly cried in her heart. Show me what to do. Please make it very plain. I don't know how to go on. I know I haven't been living very close to You these last few months. I've done nothing to deserve help. But won't You please straighten things out and bring Mother back to us again?
In the midst of her prayer she became aware of voices, children's voices outside, the boys and little Alexa coming home from school. Alexa wasn't quite five and was only in kindergarten. Eric and Alec were in grade school. But what were they doing home at this hour? They usually took their lunch and didn't return till two o'clock. Was it a half-day holiday?
She sprang up quickly. They mustn't be allowed to make a noise and disturb Mother. Would Gwyneth be back from the store yet?
She hurried down and met the children as they were about to enter the house.
"Shhh!" she said softly. "Mother is sick. You must be very quiet! Come around this outside way to the kitchen and Sally will give you some lunch. Why are you home at this hour?"
"Lexie has a sore throat," said Eric, the ten-year-old.
"The teacher sent us home. She said we'd havta have the doctor and see if Lexie has the measles. If she has, we can't any of us come back till we see if we get it, too."
Maris's heart sank. Measles! More trouble!
"My froat is sore, an' I want my muvver!" wailed Alexa with a quivering lip.
"That's all right, darling. Sister will take care of you," said Maris, putting her arm around the little girl and drawing her close. "Come on; we'll go up to sister's room. You can get into my nice bed and have a pretty little nightie on, and some lovely orange juice to drink," coaxed Maris, trying to think how she was to manage this new complication.
"No, I don't want to go to your bed. I want to go to Muvver. I want my muvver!" Her voice had increased to a shrill roar.
Maris gathered the child up in her arms and carried her out through the garden to the hammock under a big tree and sat down with her in her arms.
"Listen, Lexie," she said soothingly, "Muvver dear had a bad fall down on the kitchen floor and she hurt herself, and we had to send for the doctor. He put her to bed until she gets all mended up. He said she must lie very still and sleep a lot, and we mustn't try to wake her up for anything for a while, so she would get all well."
The child looked up for a moment with great eyes filled with horror, and her baby lip puckered pitifully. Then she wailed again, and two tears rolled down her pink cheeks.
"I want my muvver. I'se got a sore froat!"
"But Lexie, you don't want Muvver to be sick a long, long time, do you? You want her to get well quick, don't you? You wouldn't like Muvver to be so sick she couldn't ever get up again, would you?"
The child shook her head.
"Well, then, you're going to be a good, good little girl, as brave as a soldier, and let sister take care of you and make you well, till Mother can get up again, aren't you?"
A slow, reluctant nod.
"But my froat is sore. Awful!"
"Well, we'll go right upstairs and get in bed and send for our good Dr. MacPherson. He gives you nice sweet sugar pills, you know, and he'll make you well quick. Come on! Let's see how softly we can get up the stairs so we won't wake Muvver."
Little by little she coaxed the child, until she finally yielded with a weak smile and said, "Wes," she would be a good girl and not make a noise when sister took her up the stairs. At last Maris landed Lexie in her bed and began to undress the hot little body.
There was no question but Alexa had a fever, and it looked to Maris's inexperienced eyes as if there were some kind of faint rash beginning to appear. Oh, was this also to be added to the burdens? Measles and a wedding! A wedding and a quarantine sign on the door. Oh, what a mess! And what would Tilford say to it all?
Suddenly she began to laugh.
Alexa turned and stared at her in wonder.
"Vat is funny, Maris?" She tried to focus her heavy eyes on her sister who was laughing almost hysterically, though very quietly. It had to be either crying or laughing, and she preferred to laugh.
Suddenly she sobered. She must not let herself go like this. Too much depended on her just now.
"I was only thinking how funny it was to have measles and a wedding at the same time."
Alexa gave a faint little giggle.
"Can't I be a fower girl?"
"Not if you have the measles."
"Is I got measles, Maris?"
"Well, maybe. We'll have to ask Mother's nurse to come in and look."
"Has Muvver got a nurse? I wantta see her."
"I'll get her in a minute. You lie still and be a good girl."
"Aw wight! Myrtle Hayes has gotted measles. She had 'em two days. She wasn't in school. Now I got 'em, mebbe! Isn't that funny?"
"Yes, very funny!" said Maris with a bitter little grin.
"When you got measles, you get fowers an' paper dollies sent to you by the class. We sent some to Myrtle Hayes yestidday! Do you s'pose I got measles fum her, makin' her a paper dolly?"
"Oh, no. You have to be with people who have them to get them."
"Well, I was wif her two more yestiddays ago."
"Yes, that was it, likely. Now you lie still till I call the nurse."
Mrs. Mayberry was sleeping nicely and the nurse sitting by with a book. Maris almost envied her. She had no perplexities to settle. She had only to sit there and do her duty as it came to her hour by hour. Oh, of course there were responsibilities, but she was trained to meet them. And there was always the doctor at the end of the telephone to call upon in necessity. While here she was suddenly plunged from having a good time into every kind of a mix-up, things she knew nothing at all about. As if it wasn't enough to be on the eve of her marriage with all sorts of new problems to deal with, without having her mother, the mainstay of the family, taken down so desperately ill, and the baby of the house sick besides! And she had no training for such things, and no one to call upon in her extremity. She was the oldest child. Her father mustn't be more troubled than he was already, or he would break, too. And Merrick was so hotheaded he was no help at all. As for Tilford, he had made it all too evident that none of this was his problem. She couldn't consult him, though of course she would have to tell him pretty soon the latest developments. What would Tilford say to a contagious disease? Well, she would soon find out, for there he was coming up the walk, she saw as she passed the window. His car was parked out in front.
But Maris did not run down to meet him. She followed the nurse back to the sickroom and let Sally deal with the front door. One burden at once was all she could carry. Tilford would have to wait until she was free.
The nurse came in and examined the little girl. She said it looked like measles to her, but the rash wasn't coming out well. She hinted that it might even be scarlet fever.
"You know, there's quite a bit of it around," she said. "Just keep her asleep till the doctor gets here if you can."
But Alexa was restless and wanted her mother, and it was some time before even a story kept her still enough to drop off to sleep.
As soon as Maris was sure the child was sleeping soundly enough not to cry out and disturb their mother, she hurried down to Tilford. He met her with an angry frown.
"It seems to me, Maris, that you are very inconsiderate," he said as he glanced at his watch vexedly. "I have waited exactly sixteen minutes for you this time. And how long was it this morning? My time is valuable, you know. Especially so just now when I am planning to be out of the country for at least six months. Hereafter I do wish you would try to come down promptly."
Maris was very tired, and overwhelmingly worried. The tears were very near to the surface, and she needed comfort.
"I came as soon as I possibly could," she said, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice. "You don't realize what has been going on here."
"Well, I certainly realize enough," he said coldly, sitting on a straight chair opposite the couch where she had dropped down. "I can't quite see how your family can be so inconsiderate to you at a time like this, with your marriage so close at hand."
"What do you mean?" said Maris, sitting very straight and flashing her eyes at him. "Do you think it was inconsiderate of my mother to drop unconscious on the floor while she was preparing to iron some of my pretty things for me? Do you think it was inconsiderate of my little sister to come home very sick from school, with a sore throat and probably a bad case of measles, or perhaps scarlet fever?"
"You don't mean that has happened, too?" said Tilford, looking at her accusingly as if somehow it was all her fault.
"The doctor hasn't seen her yet, but the nurse is sure it is one or the other."
"Well, for heaven's sake, Maris, have you had both of those?"
"I'm sure I don't remember," said Maris wearily. "I guess so. But anyway, that doesn't matter. The fact remains that Alexa is very sick, and I've got to go right back to her as soon as possible."
"Not at all, Maris. You must not go near her again. You know, even if you did have them when you were a child, it is quite possible to get them a second time. I've heard of cases. And it would be simply out of the question to run the risk of you being down with measles on your wedding day, you know. You must telephone for another nurse if the one you have isn't adequate for the situation. I shouldn't think measles was much anyway. She'll probably be running around in a day or two. But you must not run any risks for the wedding."
"Wedding!" said Maris tonelessly. "We can't have a wedding if everybody is sick!"
"Nonsense!" said Tilford with his magnificent air, as if he owned the earth and would brook nobody's interference. "Sickness must not be allowed to interfere! I'm sure your mother isn't selfish enough to want you to put off your wedding just because she might not be able to attend when the day comes. And as for the child, why, I can telephone my sister in Chicago to get my little niece ready to be flower girl in Alexa's place."
Maris gave her bridegroom an incredulous look. Was it possible that he was in earnest?
"I wasn't thinking of the ceremony, or the flower girl," she said coldly. "I couldn't think of getting married while my mother was lying at death's door and my sister was so sick she needed me. You don't realize how sick Mother is, or you wouldn't talk that way. Twice today we thought she was dying. The doctor said it was a miracle that she didn't. Do you suppose I could get married and go away across the ocean with my mother sick like that?"
"Well, just what would you propose to do about it?" he asked in a cold, haughty voice. "Our reservations are all made for a certain day. We have the finest suite on the ship. I would have to forfeit a good deal of money to give them up now. Also you know that my sailing date is obligatory, as I have business appointments to meet that cannot be delayed. There is no such thing as putting off the wedding, and you'd better understand that at once. And now I think what you had better do is to run up and put a few necessities in a bag and come on home with me. It would be far better for you to stay at our home till the wedding day, and then your nerves won't be all upset. Mother will agree with me, I know, and it will give us a chance to get all the arrangements perfected at our leisure."
"Tilford!" gasped Maris, horrified. "How could you possibly think I could be spared now? Don't you know I must care for my little sister?"
"That's ridiculous, I tell you. I can get you a child specialist nurse who will handle this case much better than you can. You are just spoiling that child anyway, with so much coddling, and I positively must assert my authority and put a stop to this!"
"Authority?" said Maris and burst into a sudden hysterical giggle. "What authority have you over me?"
"The authority that the ring on your hand gives me," said the young man loftily. "You are as good as my wife now, when you are wearing that!"
"Authority!" repeated Maris slowly again, a kind of scorn creeping into her voice. "I thought it was a pledge of love and tenderness."
"Well, that, too, of course. But it is all based on authority."
"And what love and tenderness do you show when you talk in this way about my beloved family? When you want me to come away from them when they are very sick and need me. When you can suggest that I could possibly plan for a wedding with my mother at death's door!"
"Now, look here, Maris, I thought you were a sensible girl. Suppose all this had happened three weeks later, after we had been married and were halfway across the ocean? Would you have insisted that the ship turn back and take you to your precious family?"
Maris caught her breath and stared at the young man who suddenly seemed an alien, not a lover. Her face was very white. Slowly she rose from the couch and looked at him.
"It didn't happen three or four weeks later," she said steadily, "and we are not married yet, remember! I don't know that I ever want to be married if that is the way you feel about it."
There was a gravity in her voice that Tilford had never heard her use with him before.
"Miss Maris, your little sister is crying for you, and I can't seem to stop her. I'm afraid she'll waken your mother!" came the low, authoritative voice of the nurse.
Maris turned and flew up the stairs.
Tilford gave an exasperated look after her and said to the nurse, "Will you kindly ask her what she did with the wedding invitations? I can't find them where we left them yesterday."
The nurse gave him a calm glance and went upstairs without answering. But no word came from above, and Tilford presently took himself away.
Upstairs Maris was having her hands full trying to quiet the little sufferer and wishing the doctor would hurry. She had no time just now to think about weddings. It seemed to her that all the troubles of the universe had suddenly fallen into her pleasant life and there was just nothing that could be done to right things. Everything was jumbled up. She didn't even want to think about Tilford. Just the memory of his handsome face turned her sick at heart. What was love anyway? Just a thing for fair weather?