For a moment she examined, in an absent sort of way, the blossoms of a climbing rose, growing, quite uninvited, up the porch pillar of the cottage.

Then: "Maybe you're right, Barry.

Probably I will go away.

But I want to be sure that you're all right first." "Would you care to go to the village to-night?
There's a picture show there--and we could at least get a dish of ice cream and some candy." "I think not," came the answer in a tired voice.

"It's so far; besides, all this excitement has given me a headache.