The younger girl held up her pretty face, and her cousin kissed her.
"Where's grandmamma?" he said, eagerly, as he looked up.
She stood at the door. In the cross lights of lantern in front and Moorish lamp behind, she seemed to be in all the animate world the thing least changed since she had stood there to receive the boy nineteen summers before. Only a little frailer, a little whiter haired, subtly fined down by the years. With an impetuosity that made Val tremble for the fragile watcher at the door, Ethan sprang forward and up the two steps of the porch. He stopped before her with a curious reverence, and took her gently in his arms. Her head drooped on his shoulder. Val saw she had drawn the veil across her face. His arm still round her, Ethan turned with her into the hall.
"What!" he said, seeing the parlor lit, "am I company this time?"
"Tell Jerusha to serve supper," said Mrs. Gano, tremulously, to Val.
"Jerusha! Fancy her being still alive! But no supper, thank you; there was a dining-car on my miserable train."
The others went into the parlor, while Val took the lantern and the message to the kitchen, and then hurried back.
Emmie was beaming beside her cousin, sitting as close to him as she could get on the old velvet sofa. Opposite sat Mrs. Gano, animated, smiling. John Gano stood with parted coat-tails in front of the fire.
"And how does life abroad compare on the whole with life in America?" he was asking.