“Yes,” said Jeff.

“Thank you,” she said simply.  “I want you to try and believe me always, because I do tell the truth.  And now, Jeff, I’ve got to tell you that I’m dreadfully sorry for the way I’ve treated you.  Yes, let me say it,” as he made a quick movement of protest.  “It’s true.  I’ve treated you abominably, mainly because I didn’t understand.  I do understand now.  You—­you’ve opened my eyes.  Oh, Jeff, thank God they were opened even at the eleventh hour!  What should I have done if—­if—­” She broke off with a shiver, and then nestled to him like a child, as though that were the end of the argument.  “And now I’m going to be such a good wife to you,” she whispered, “to make up for it all.  I always wanted to be a farmer’s wife, you know.  But you must help me.  Jeff, will you?”

“I would die for you,” he said, his head still bent as though he could not wholly trust himself to look her in the face.

She gave a funny little tremulous laugh.  “Yes, I know.  But that wouldn’t be a bit of good.  You would only break my heart.  You don’t want to do that, do you?”

“Doris!” he said.

“Why won’t you call me Dot?”

“Dot!” said Jeff very softly.

“That’s better.”  Again her voice quivered upon a laugh.  Her arms slackened from his shoulders, and instantly his fell away, setting her free.  She rose to her feet, yet lingered a moment, bending slightly over him, her eyes very bright.

But Jeff did not move, and with a half-sigh she turned away.  “Would you like to carry the teapot?” she said.

He got up.

“And you can hang up this coat of yours,” she added.  “I’ll come in a moment.”

She watched him go in his slow, strong fashion; then for a few still seconds she stood quite tense with hands tightly gripped together.  What passed within her during those moments only her own heart ever knew, how much of longing, how much of regret, how much of earnest, quivering hope.

She followed him almost at once as she had promised.

The parlour door was open.  She came to it in her light, impetuous way.  She halted on the threshold.

“Jeff!” she said.  “Come here!”

She reached out her hands to him—­little, nervous hands full of purpose.  She drew him close.  She raised her lips to his.  The mistletoe dangled above their heads.

“Will you kiss me, Jeff?” she whispered.

He stooped, half-hesitating.

Her arms stole about his neck.  “You needn’t—­ever—­be afraid to kiss your own wife, dear,” she said.  “I want your love just in the ordinary way—­the ordinary way.”

He held her to him.  “Dot—­Dot—­forgive me!”

She shook her head with frank, fearless eyes raised to his.  “It was a bad bargain, Jeff.  Forget it!”

“And make another?” he suggested.

To which she answered with her quick smile.  “Love makes no bargains, Jeff.  Love just gives—­and gives—­and gives.”