"When?" he asked. "Very soon--before the end of the week, anyway." "But look here!" he protested. "What am I going to do?" "I don't know," she smiled. "But one thing is certain: you can't play sick very much longer." "The doctor says it will be another two weeks before my arm is out of the sling." "Even so, the rest of you is well. There is n't much excuse for my bringing in your breakfasts, Monte." "Do you mind doing it?" "No." "Who is to tie on this silk handkerchief?" He wore a black silk handkerchief over his bandages, which she always adjusted for him. She met his eyes a moment, and smiled again. "I'm going to Etois," she said. "I think I shall get a little villa there and stay all summer." "Then," he declared, "I think I shall go to Etois myself." "I 'm afraid you must n't." "But the doctor says I must n't play golf for six months. What do you think I'm going to do with myself until then?" "There's all the rest of the world," she suggested. Monte frowned. "Are you going to break our engagement, then?" "It has served its purpose, hasn't it?" she asked. "Up to now," he admitted. "But you say it can't go any farther." "No, Monte." The next suggestion that leaped into Monte's mind was obvious enough, yet he paused a moment before voicing it. Perhaps even then he would not have found the courage had he not been rather panic-stricken. He had exactly the same feeling, when he thought of her in Etois, that he