Rhoda replied in astonishment, "Why, you mustn't speak that way to me!
It's not--not--"

"Not conventional?" suggested Cartwell. "What difference does that
make, between you and me?"

Again came the strange stirring in Rhoda in response to Cartwell's
gaze. He was looking at her with something of tragedy in the dark
young eyes, something of sternness and determination in the clean-cut
lips. Rhoda wondered, afterward, what would have been said if
Katherine had not chosen this moment to come out on the porch.

"Rhoda," she asked, "do you feel like dressing for dinner? Hello,
Kut-le, it's time you moved toward soap and water, seems to me!"

"Yessum!" replied Cartwell meekly. He rose and helped Rhoda from the
hammock, then held the door open for her. DeWitt and Newman emerged
from the orchard as he crossed to Katherine's chair.

"Is she very sick, Mrs. Jack?" he asked.

Katherine nodded soberly.

"Desperately sick. Her father and mother were killed in a railroad
wreck a year ago. Rhoda wasn't seriously hurt but she has never gotten
over the shock. She has been failing ever since. The doctor feared
consumption and sent her down here. But she's just dying by inches.
Oh, it's too awful! I can't believe it! I can't realize it!"