"Poor hearth!" She turned again to it, and her glance sobered. "So cold now, even on a July day, after having been warmed with so many fires."
"Shall we warm it?" He took an eager step toward her. "Shall we build our own home fires upon it?"
Startled, she stared at him, the blue of her eyes growing deep. He smiled into them, his own gleaming with satisfaction.
"Richard! What do you—mean?"
"What I say, darling. Could you be happy here? Should you like it better than the Kendrick house?—gloomy old place that that is!"
"But—your grandfather! We—we couldn't possibly leave him lonely!"
"Bless your kind heart, dear—we couldn't. Shall we make a home for him here?"
"Would he be content?"
"So content that he's only waiting to know that you like it, and he'll tell you so. The plan is this, Robin—if you approve it. Three months of the year grandfather will stay in the old home, the hard, winter months, and if you are willing, we'll stay with him. The rest of the year—here, in our own home. Eh? Do you like it?"
She stood a moment, staring into the empty fireplace, her eyes shining with a sudden hint of most unwonted tears. Then she turned to him.