"He needs cheering—needs loving! With the old routine of office suddenly lacking, and little Arthur gone, the man is lost—aimless. There seems to be nothing worth while—nothing to keep him with us! And there are other troubles—I don't understand them myself, but you will know how to help him. I'm so glad you have come!" she repeated, with a warmth that made his heart beat faster. What would it be like to find such a welcome for his own sake—and every night when he came home!
"Did you 'phone the office?" The words recalled him.
"Yes. He is down in the valley; the clerk didn't know when he would return."
"We won't wait for Charlie. He's often late, and I know you are anxious to find the judge."
After a few minutes' absence Winifred announced that luncheon was ready. As Philip held the curtains for her to precede him to the dining-room he looked longingly at the sweet-scented blossoms in the window.
"I have seen nothing more delightful in years," he explained. "I am old-fashioned enough not to care for palms or rubber plants."
"Another bond of friendship," smiled Winifred, lightly. "Shall I make the salad dressing, or would you prefer to mix it yourself?" she asked, after she had persuaded him to take the head of the table.
"I make a dressing that is the despair of my friends," she continued. "So I make them shut their eyes when I mix it, else my one accomplishment would be mine no longer."
Philip promised, with a smile, to "play fair." He delighted in the housewifely nonsense, and ate the salad, though he hated olive oil. "Salads are a woman's folly," he had once said. But he did not repeat it.
"How do you like it?" Her mood suited the visitor. The light conversation took his mind from the more serious purpose of his visit, and Winifred's accent implied accepted friendship. He needed this relaxation.