"Much better, Marjorie, in the end. Oh, sweetheart, I feel the awfulness of it, too; but we've got to go through it or"
"Or what?"
"We can never be happy, you and I; your father can never be happy; or your mother."
"Mother's happy now—now that she feels father will be well again. She's planning again to go to Europe, just as she used to, only on the second May sailing of the Aquitania instead of the April."
"That's false happiness, as you perfectly well know," Billy said with a difficult effort to keep patience.
"How much happiness is, Billy? I have been moping about a lot, recently; but moping means thinking some. My home is dishonorable; but it required at least four accidents, all to happen together, before even I could suspect it. First, there was the accident—for it was no more than that—that Mrs. Russell had been married and so Russell was in a position to cause trouble; second, the accident that he was of the disposition to threaten; third, that father was in the position to make it worth his while; fourth, Doctor Grantham happened to have a new assistant who bungled the address and knew no better than to call me. If any of these first chances had fallen the other way, I'd be happy as ever; and if they all fell as they did, and Doctor Grantham hadn't a green girl in his office, to-night I'd be worrying only about father's health."
"But it would have been false happiness, Marjorie."
"Are you sure we can spare false happiness, Billy? Is there enough of the other to go all around?"
His hold on her limp hand had been relaxing; now he let go entirely. "Marjorie!" he whispered in horror.
