"You are free."

"I've got to know," he said, almost doggedly. "I can't take a chance. I

believe I am. I believe David, of course. But anyhow I'd like to see the

ranch. I want to see Maggie Donaldson."

"She's not at the ranch. Her husband died, you know."

"I have an idea I can find her," he said. "I'll make a good try,

anyhow."

When he had gone she got her salts bottle and lay down on her bed. Her

heart was hammering wildly.

Elizabeth was waiting for him in the living-room, in the midst of

her family. She looked absurdly young and very pretty, and he had a

momentary misgiving that he was old to her, and that--Heaven save the

mark!--that she looked up to him. He considered the blue dress the

height of fashion and the mold of form, and having taken off his

overcoat in the hall, tried to put on Mr. Wheeler's instead in his

excitement. Also, becoming very dignified after the overcoat incident,

and making an exit which should conceal his wild exultation and show

only polite pleasure, he stumbled over Micky, so that they finally

departed to a series of staccato yelps.

He felt very hot and slightly ridiculous as he tucked Elizabeth into

the little car, being very particular about her feet, and starting

with extreme care, so as not to jar her. He had the feeling of being

entrusted temporarily with something infinitely precious, and very, very

dear. Something that must never suffer or be hurt.




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