The doctor had just left, puncturing his
arm and squirting into his poor tired system a panacea for the pain. But
he would not react to it, fighting down the drowsiness.
"Hester," he said, suddenly, and a little weakly, "lean down,
sweetheart, and kiss me--long--long--"
She did, and it was with the pressure of her lips to his that he died.
* * * * *
It was about a week after the funeral that Wheeler came back. She was on
the _chaise-longue_ that had been dragged out into the parlor, in the
webbiest of white negligees, a little large-eyed, a little subdued, but
sweetening the smile she turned toward him by a trick she had of lifting
the brows.
"Hel-lo, Wheeler!" she said, raising her cheek to be kissed.
He trailed his lips, but did not seek her mouth, sitting down rather
awkwardly and in the spread-kneed fashion he had.
"Well, girl--you all right?"
"You helped," she said.
"It gave me a jolt, too. I made over twenty-five thousand to the Red
Cross on the strength of it.
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