“Let’s not go to the reception,” she said.  “We’ve congratulated them a dozen times already.”

“Oh, we’ve got to go,” he answered.  “They would be disappointed.  We’ll only stay a few minutes.  Just as soon as I rest—­I am played out to-night—­it is only a step.”

They slipped among the guests at the reception quietly and unobtrusively, but were instantly surrounded.

“A good service, David,” said Mr. Daniels, eying him keenly.  “You make such a pretty job of it I’d like to try it over myself.”

“Now, Dan,” expostulated his anxious little wife.  “Don’t you pay any attention to him, Mrs. Duke, he’s always talking.”

“I know it,” said Carol appreciatively.  “I never pay attention.”

“You need a vacation, Mr. Duke,” broke in a voice impulsively.

“I know it,” assented David.  “We’ll take one in the spring,—­and you can help pay the expenses.”

“You’d better take it now,” suggested Mrs. Baldwin.  “The church can get along without you, you know.”

But the laugh that went up was not genuine.  Many of them, in their devotion to David, wondered if the church really could get along without him.

David gaily waved aside the enormous plate of refreshments that was passed to him.  “I had my dinner, you know,” he explained.  “Carol isn’t neglecting me.”

“He had it, but he didn’t eat it,—­and it was fried chicken,” said Carol sadly.

A few minutes later they were at home again, and before Carol had finished the solemn task of rubbing cold cream into her pretty skin, David was sleeping heavily, his face flushed, his hands twitching nervously at times.

Carol stood above him, gazing adoringly down upon him for a while.  Then shutting her eyes, she said fervently: 

“Oh, God, do make David less like an angel, and more like other men.”

Early the next morning she was up and had steaming hot coffee ready for David almost before his eyes were open.

“To crowd out that mean little cough that spoils your breakfast,” she said.  “I shall keep you in bed to-day.”

All morning David lounged around the house, hugging the fireplace, and complained of feeling cold though it was a warm bright day late in April, and although the fire was blazing.  In the afternoon he took off his jacket and loosened his collar.

“It certainly is hot enough now,” he declared.  “Open the windows, Carol,—­I am roasting.”

“That is fever,” she announced ominously.  “Do you feel very badly?”

“Well, nothing extra,” he assented grudgingly.

“David, if you love me, let’s call a doctor.  You are going to have the grippe, or pneumonia, or something awful, and—­if you love me, David.”

The pleading voice arrested his refusal and he gave the desired consent, still laughing at the silly notion.

So Carol sped next door to the home of Mr. Daniels, the fatherly elder.