"Relax! Count sheep!" Marjorie repeated to herself with disdain, standing at the window and watching her mother precede Doctor Grantham to his car; yet, when they disappeared, reaction, if not relaxation, set in; she undressed and went to bed so utterly gone that she slept as if she were drugged, though both of Doctor Grantham's capsules remained unopened on her table. It was after five when she awoke and outside the sunlight was gone; her mother was sitting quietly beside her and, as soon as her head cleared and recollection came, Marjorie discerned that her mother was still unsuspecting; nothing had occurred at the hospital or during her absence from the house to turn her mother's pure, idealistic thought into channels of doubt.
"I returned shortly after noon, dear," she said, smoothing Marjorie's forehead with her cool, steady hand. "Your father was comfortable and I have since telephoned and they tell me he is sleeping. So we have no cause to question his rapid recovery, dear And Doctor Grantham assures me positively there can be no recurrence of the trouble."
Marjorie had supper brought to her room but afterwards she dressed and, going downstairs, she discovered Billy, who took her in his arms. "I told Sarah not to send my name up but if you came down, I meant to be with you," he said emotionally and kissed her.
"Don't—just now, Billy," she begged, but when he released her in compliance, she held to him for a moment, "I need you so much but I can't want to feel yet, don't you see?" she tried to explain.
He assured her that he did, but she realized, when she kept away from him, that she was hurting his feelings; how big and warm he was, and what a power of
