"They ought to mend the bridge first. Those holes are dangerous for horses."
Again she assented. Why, she wondered vaguely, did he emphasize the obvious?
Within its grove of trees, in the midst of last summer's weeds, which were never cut, the long whitewashed house wore a forlorn yet not inhospitable air. Through the snow the hooded roof looked close and secretive; but there was the glimmer of a lamp in one of the lower windows, enormous lilac bushes, which must lend gaiety in April, clustered about the porch, and the spreading frame wings, added by old John Calvin Abernethy, still gave an impression of comfort. It was the ordinary Virginian farm-house of the early nineteenth century, built for service rather than for beauty; and retaining, because of its simplicity, a charm which had long since departed from more ambitious pieces of architecture.
"So we're home again," said Jason, glancing about him.
The buggy had come to a stop by the front steps, and regardless of the mare's impatience, he sprang to the ground and helped the girl to alight.
"Yes, it looks bare, doesn't it?"
She lifted her face to his as she answered, and while he looked down into her eyes, a quiver passed over his mouth under the short red moustache.
"Do you go over every day?" he asked. "Why haven't I met you before?"
She looked down. "Oh, I had to help out at home. But I've worked in the store ever since Mrs. Pedlar was taken ill. I get there about eight usually and stay until just before sunset."
"For which, I suppose, you receive an extravagant salary?"