“What a night!” exulted the doctor, striding up the long hill beside Rachel Redding breathing deep. “I’m thanking all my lucky stars that they led my path across Anthony Robeson’s to-night. I’ve been intending to come out here ever since he was married—and might not have done it for another six months if I hadn’t got started. He’ll have all he wants of me now. It’s the most delightful spot I’ve been in for many moons.”
“It is a dear little home,” agreed Rachel warmly. “Mrs. Robeson would make the most commonplace house in the world one where everybody would want to come.”
“That’s evident. Yet, somehow, knowing her well as a girl, I never should have suspected just those home-making qualities. You didn’t know her then, I suppose? She was a girl other girls liked heartily, and men enthusiastically—one of the ‘I’ll be a good friend, but don’t come too near’ sort, you know. But she was very fond of travel and change, ready for everything in the way of sport—and, well, I certainly never saw her before in anything resembling an apron of any description. What a delightful article of attire an apron is, anyhow. I think I never appreciated it before to-night.”
“That’s because you never saw one of Mrs. Robeson’s aprons. Hers are not like other people’s.”
“She makes hers poetic, does she?”
“She certainly does—even the ones for baking and sweeping. Not ruffled or beribboned, but cut with an eye to attractiveness, and always of becoming colour.”
“I see. She’s an artist—that was noticeable in the oysters—if she made the dish.”
“Of course she did.”
“The coffee was the best I ever drank.”