After the doctors were through with Monte the next morning, they decided, after a consultation, that there was no apparent reason why, during the day, Miss Stockton, if she desired, should not serve as his nurse while Miss Duval went home to sleep. "My assistant will come in at least twice," said Dr. Marcellin. "Besides, you have the constitution of a prize-fighter. It might well be possible to place a bullet through the heart of such a man without greatly discommoding him." He spoke as if with some resentment. After they had gone out, Marjory came in. She hesitated at the door a moment, perhaps to make sure that he was awake; perhaps to make sure that she herself was awake. Monte, from the bed, could see her better than she could see him. He thought she looked whiter than usual, but she was very beautiful. There was something about her that distinguished her from other women--from this nurse woman, for example, who was the only other woman with whom it was possible to compare her in a like situation. With one hand resting on the door, her chin well up, she looked more than ever like Her Royal Highness Something or Other. She was dressed in something white and light and fluffy, like the gowns he used to see on Class Day. Around her white throat there was a narrow band of black velvet. "Good-morning, Marjory," he called. She came at once to his side, walking graciously, as a princess might walk. "I did n't know if you were awake," she said. It was one thing to have her here in the dark, and another to have her here in broad daylight. The sun was streaming in at the windows now, and outside the birds were chattering. "Did you rest well last night?" she inquired. "I heard you when you came in and whispered to the nurse woman. It was mighty white of you to come." "What else could I do?" She seated herself in a chair by his bed. "Because we are engaged?" he asked. She smiled a little as he said that. "Then you have not forgotten?"