Valerie, seated sideways on the edge of the bed, looked up at Neville, laughing: 

“I must tell you about Sam and Helene,” she said.  “They are too funny!  Helene was furious because Sam wrote her a letter saying that he intended to marry her but had not the courage to notify her, personally, of his decision; and Helene was wild, and wrote him that he might save himself further trouble in the matter.  And they’ve been telephoning to each other at intervals all day, and Sam is so afraid of her that he dare not go to see her; and Helene was in tears when I saw her—­and I think it was because she was afraid Sam wouldn’t come and resume the quarrel where she could manage it and him more satisfactorily.”

She threw back her head and laughed at the recollection, stroking Gladys the while: 

“It will come out all right, of course,” she added, her eyes full of laughter; “she’s been in love with Sam ever since he broke a Ming jar and almost died of fright.  But isn’t it funny, Louis?—­the way people fall in love, and their various manners of informing each other!”

He was trying to smile, but the gray constraint in his face made it only an effort.  Valerie pretended not to notice it, and she rattled on gaily, detailing her small budget of gossip and caressing Gladys—­behaving as irresponsibly and as capriciously as though her heart were not singing a ceaseless hymn of happiness too deep, too thankful to utter by word or look.

“Dear little Rita,” she exclaimed, suddenly and tenderly solemn—­“I saw her the morning of the day she departed with John.  And first of all I asked about you of course—­you spoiled thing!—­and then I asked about John.  And we put our arms around each other and had a good, old-fashioned cry....  But—­don’t you think he is going to get well, Louis?”

“Sam’s brother—­Billy Ogilvy—­wrote me that he would always have to live in Arizona.  He can live there.  But the East would be death to him.”

“Can’t he ever come back?” she asked pitifully.

“No, dear.”

“But—­but what will Rita do?”

He said:  “I think that will depend on Rita.  I think it depends on her already.”

“Why?” she asked, wide-eyed.  “Do you believe that John cares for her?”

“I know he does....  And I haven’t much doubt that he wants to marry her.”

“Do you think so?  Oh, Louis—­if that is true, what a heavenly future for Rita!”

“Heavenly?  Out in that scorching desert?”

“Do you think she’d care where she was?  Kelly, you’re ridiculous!”

“Do you believe that any woman could stand that for the rest of her life, Valerie?”

She smiled, head lowered, fondling the cat who had gone ecstatically to sleep.

She said, still smiling:  “If a girl is loved she endures some things; if she loves she endures more.  But to a girl who is loved, and who loves, nothing else matters ...  And it would be that way with Rita”—­she lifted her eyes—­“as it is with me.”