The gray eyes of the girl in the doorway looked steadily into the green eyes of the girl by the bed. "Thank you, Coppy, I heard you." And she stepped aside to let the other pass out.
"Well?" she asked when the two were alone.
"Well!" answered Peter, emphatically. "Everything is very, very well. Do you know," and he smiled up at her like a happy small boy--"do you know that all the while you were building that dam I was building something else?"
"I was building my life over again--building it fresh, with the fear gone and everything sound and strong and fine. And into the chinks where all the miserable empty places had been--the places where loneliness and heartache eternally leaked through--I was fitting love, the love I never dared dream of."
The girl's lips looked strangely hard--almost bitter, Peter thought; and this time he reached out both arms to her.
"Hang it all! It's tough on a man who's never dared dream of love to have it take him, bandaged and tied to his bed. Leerie--Leerie! You wouldn't have the heart to blow out the lamp now, would you?"
The lips softened, she gave a sad little shake of her head. "No, but you've got to keep it burning yourself. You're a man; you can do it. Sorry--can't help it. And please don't say anything more. Don't spoil it all, and make me say things I wish I hadn't and send you off to pay your bill and leave the San to-night." She smiled wistfully. "Dear, grown-up boy! Don't you know that it's the customary thing for a man to think he's fallen in love with his nurse when he's convalescing? Just get well and forget it--as all the others do." She turned toward the door.
"I'm not going to pay my bill to-night, and I'm not going to forget it. I guess all those chinks haven't been filled up yet. I'm going to stay until they are. Good plan, don't you think?" And Peter Brooks smiled like a man who had never been given up--nor ever intended giving up, now that life had given him back the things for which he had a right to fight.
Hennessy was feeding the swans. Sheila O'Leary leaned over the sill of the diminutive rustic rest-house and watched him with a tired contentment. She had just come off a neurasthenic case--a week of twenty-four-hour duty--and she wanted to stretch her cramped sensibilities in the quiet peace of the little house and invite her soul with a glimpse of Hennessy and the swans.