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T was earlier than usual for him on a week-day evening, but her mother had telephoned him from the hospital, inviting him out to dinner.

He had received a telegram from Gregg from Freeport, Illinois, blandly informing that Gregg would be home that night. Of course it relieved Billy, as he supposed Gregg meant he was all right, but Gregg had no right to go off like that without a word to him. Billy was in reproachful mood and he continued it with Marjorie. "You do nothing but mope about the house, your mother says," Billy reproved her fondly, as he held her before him after kissing her. "You must be out more and doing things."

"What things?" said Marjorie; and Billy did not particularize. His big, tender heart was feeling for her all it could, these days; and his conscience seemed crammed with a cargo as heavy and sinking as lead.

"Of course I understand," he said, gazing down at her beside him as she led him, somewhat as she had Mr. Stanway, away to the far, quiet corner of the drawing-room. He longed to lift her small, soft body and hold her against him and cradle her in his big, strong arms; but she did not like such physical contact, he knew. Sometimes he wondered if she would ever like it; or if she would have, if that paralyzing disclosure of her father's sin had not come to her on the night they became betrothed. He believed she would; for naturally she had strong, physical feelings