A RED GLARE
"By all that's astonishing, are you actually idling? And may I come and idle, too?"
Shirley looked up from the depths of one of the capacious willow chairs, which, well stocked with cushions, were favourite lounging-places upon the great side porch of the Townsend house, and from which one could look out over a long and charming stretch of lawn toward the tennis-court.
It was a warm evening in late May. Everybody else was away, and Shirley had settled herself for one of the rare hours of rest and solitude which she so much enjoyed when her work was done. But she answered Brant Hille cordially:
"Of course you may, if you will be nice and soothing. These first warm days make me feel a trifle lazy."
"Not strange, when you spend them in a stuffy office." Brant accepted the cushions she tossed to him, and disposed himself comfortably upon them on the top step near her feet.
"The office is n't stuffy. I 've sat by a wide-open window all day. Besides, the first thing Murray did when he went in with father was to overhaul our whole system of ventilation. So the office is never stuffy, even in winter."
"Don't be belligerent, or I 'll not be responsible for the soothing effects of my society. What can I do to lull you to repose? You don't like banjo music, or I 'd have brought my banjo over. It's just the evening for that."
"If you had, you'd have gone home again."
"You are in a sweet mood!" Brant spoke with the familiarity of old acquaintance. "Would you object to telling me what's gone wrong with your ladyship?"