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?
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CHAPTER FOUR
Maris lay down on the bed beside her small sister, holding the hot little hand in her own, and her heart seemed just about as heavy as a heart could be.
But she talked on, making up a ridiculous story about a canary bird that wore rubber boots and got the measles and had nice orange juice to drink out of a silver spoon, and all the time her subconscious mind was aware of the little boys outside playing ball and yelling to each other at the top of their lungs. Oh dear! She had tried to tell them their mother was sick, but they probably hadn't taken it in. It was good they were on this side of the house and not the other. Her mother perhaps could not hear them.
But then they drew nearer, close to the house, and began shouting some altercation about whether the ball had been out or not, and suddenly bang! bang! bang! came the ball against the wall of her room, close by the window.
The little girl started from her sleep.
"What's that, Maris?" she asked, opening startled eyes.
"It's only Eric and Alec throwing their ball against the house." She tried to answer in a sleepy tone. "I'll tell them to stop it." Then she called from the window.
"Boys! Eric! Alec! Stop that! You'll disturb Mother! Can't you get some books or something and keep quiet for a little while?"
"Okay!" said Eric with a frown. "Can't we go down by the pond? All the kids are down there!"
Then she heard another voice, low-modulated, calling,
"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?
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CHAPTER FOUR
Maris lay down on the bed beside her small sister, holding the hot little hand in her own, and her heart seemed just about as heavy as a heart could be.
But she talked on, making up a ridiculous story about a canary bird that wore rubber boots and got the measles and had nice orange juice to drink out of a silver spoon, and all the time her subconscious mind was aware of the little boys outside playing ball and yelling to each other at the top of their lungs. Oh dear! She had tried to tell them their mother was sick, but they probably hadn't taken it in. It was good they were on this side of the house and not the other. Her mother perhaps could not hear them.
But then they drew nearer, close to the house, and began shouting some altercation about whether the ball had been out or not, and suddenly bang! bang! bang! came the ball against the wall of her room, close by the window.
The little girl started from her sleep.
"What's that, Maris?" she asked, opening startled eyes.
"It's only Eric and Alec throwing their ball against the house." She tried to answer in a sleepy tone. "I'll tell them to stop it." Then she called from the window.
"Boys! Eric! Alec! Stop that! You'll disturb Mother! Can't you get some books or something and keep quiet for a little while?"
"Okay!" said Eric with a frown. "Can't we go down by the pond? All the kids are down there!"
Then she heard another voice, low-modulated, calling,
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