"That's Janet's house among the larches," he said.
The dogs greeted them, and then Janet's tall figure slipped through the trees.
Shyness took hold of Theresa, and when she sat in the dark kitchen she was conscious again of the mystery of woods. The larches were close to the window, scratching the panes, and the room was full of shadows.
Janet did not try to talk, but, having seated Theresa by the fire, she took her stool on the other side of the hearth and scrutinized her keenly, while Alexander leaned in the door-way, reading. Theresa could think of nothing to say, and decided that if these two were content with silence there was no need for her to break it; so she looked into the fire, at Janet's face and the plates on the dresser, at the fire again, at Alexander and the lean hands holding his book.
She had been free and happy outside with him, and now she was uneasy, fettered.
"I think I'll go back," she said.
Alexander closed his book. "But you're going to stay to dinner. Isn't she, Janet?"
"Of course." She looked at Theresa in her brooding, unsmiling way. "I like to have you here. Your father's a friend of mine."
"Did he ever tell you that dream of Janet's?" Alexander asked.
"The one about the birds? Oh yes, he told me that." She smiled. "I think he tells me everything."