“But now that is all over, isn't it?” she said. “And the Snows are the happiest people in the country, I do believe. AND the proudest, of course. So now you must tell me all about it, about your experiences, and about your war cross, and about your literary work—oh, about everything.”
The all-inclusive narrative was not destined to get very far. Old Mr. Kendall came hurrying in, the sermon on the casting down of Baal in his hand. Thereafter he led, guided, and to a large extent monopolized the conversation. His discourse had proceeded perhaps as far as “Thirdly” when Albert, looking at his watch, was surprised to find it almost dinner time. Mr. Kendall, still talking, departed to his study to hunt for another sermon. The young people said good-by in his absence.
“It has been awfully good to see you again, Helen,” declared Albert. “But I told you that in the beginning, didn't I? You seem like—well, like a part of home, you know. And home means something to me nowadays.”
“I'm glad to hear you speak of South Harniss as home. Of course I know you don't mean to make it a permanent home—I imagine Madeline would have something to say about that—but it is nice to have you speak as if the old town meant something to you.”
He looked about him.
“I love the place,” he said simply.
“I am glad. So do I; but then I have lived here all my life. The next time we talk I want to know more about your plans for the future—yours and Madeline's, I mean. How proud she must be of you.”
He looked up at her; she was standing upon the upper step and he on the walk below.
“Madeline and I—” he began. Then he stopped. What was the use? He did not want to talk about it. He waved his hand and turned away.
After dinner he went out into the kitchen to talk to Mrs. Ellis, who was washing dishes. She was doing it as she did all her share of the housework, with an energy and capability which would have delighted the soul of a “scientific management” expert. Except when under the spell of a sympathetic attack Rachel was ever distinctly on the job.