The other two looked at each other, smiling joyously.

“He’s getting well,” said Ellen Burns.

“No doubt of it in the world,” agreed Jordan King.

“Sit down here where I can look at you both,” commanded the convalescent.  “Jord, isn’t my wife something to look at in that blue frock she’s wearing?  I like these things she melts into evenings, like that smoky blue she has on now.  It seems to satisfy my eyes.”

“Not much wonder in that.  She would satisfy anybody’s eyes.”

“That’s quite enough about me,” Ellen declared.  “The thing that’s really interesting is that your eyes are brighter to-night, Red, than they have been for two long months.  I believe it’s getting downstairs.”

“Of course it is.  Downstairs has been a mythical sort of place for a good while.  I couldn’t quite believe in it.  I’ve thought a thousand times of this blue couch and these pillows.  I’ve thought of that old grand piano of yours, and of how it would seem to hear you play it again.  Play for me now, will you, Len?”

She sat down in her old place, and his eyes watched her hungrily, as King could plainly see.  To the younger man the love between these two was something to study and believe in, something to hope for as a wonderful possibility in his own case.

When Ellen stopped playing Burns spoke musingly.  Speech seemed a necessity for him to-night—­happiness overflowed and must find expression.

“I’ve had a lot of stock advice for my patients that’ll mean something I understand for myself now,” he said.  He sat almost upright among the blue pillows, his arm outstretched along the back of the couch, his long legs comfortably extended.  It was no longer the attitude of the invalid but of the well man enjoying earned repose.  “I wonder how often I’ve said to some tired mother or too-busy housewife who longed for rest:  ’If you were to become crippled or even forbidden to work any more and made to rest for good, how happy these past years would seem to you when you were tired because you had accomplished something.’  I can say that now with personal conviction of its truth.  It looks to me as if to come in dog-tired and drop into this corner with the memory of a good job done would be the best fun I’ve ever had.”

“I know,” King nodded.  “I learned that, too, last spring.”

“Of course you did.  And now, instead of going to work, I’ve got to take this blamed sea voyage of a month.  Van and Leaver are pretty hard on me, don’t you think?  The consolation in that, though, is that my wife needs it quite as much as I do.  I want to tan those cheeks of hers.  Len, will you wear the brown tweeds on shipboard?”

“Of course I will.  How your mind seems to run to clothes to-night.  What will Your Highness wear himself?”

“The worst old clothes I can find.  Then when I get back I’ll go to the tailor’s and start life all over again, with the neatest lot of stuff he can make me—­a regular honeymoon effect.”  Burns laughed, lifting his chin with the old look of purpose and power touching his thin face.