"Now you go to sleep, old lady." Catherine closed the door, and stopped for a moment to supervise Marian's preparations.
Spencer had filled the wood basket with shining pink-white birch logs. Catherine drew out the crane with the kettle and laid a fire on the andirons in the huge old fireplace. Dr. Henrietta came out, dangling her eyeglasses on a long black ribbon over her sturdy white finger.
"This is a charming old place, Catherine. You all look well, too. A summer in the country certainly sets the children up."
Catherine glanced at her, as the flame crept around the logs.
"You ought to try it, if you want to know what it does to you—" she paused. "Moss in every cranny of your brain—" Bill was coming in. "After supper I'll tell you!"
Supper was over. Spencer had piloted Bill and the car safely into the barn, running back to tell Catherine, "Moth-er! Mr. Bill thinks his car scared all the old cow ghosts in the stalls." When he and Marian were in bed, Catherine came back to the living room, the square envelope from the Bureau in her hand.
"It's queer you two should come to-night," she said. "I need you to talk to."
Bill had settled in the old fiddle-back walnut chair, the smoke from his pipe turning his lined face into a dim gargoyle. Dr. Henrietta was fitting a cigarette into her long amber holder.
"Charles hasn't been here much this summer, has he?" she asked.