She went to the window, and drew aside the curtain to look out. There was no sign of her loved ones yet. They were going to meet George. Maybe the train was late. So she sat down to wait. But she did not rest long. It seemed impossible for her not to keep busy with some preparation.
Could this be Alma? Pleasure-loving, indolent Alma of the past? No! This was the Alma of later years,—strong, eager, loving, beginning a new life upon the ashes of heart-aches past!
It was long past six, when Harold and Will returned alone. George had not arrived on the train expected.
"Never mind," said Alma, "We three will have our cozy little supper together. When George comes, I can prepare something, too."
Will's arms encircled her as they went to the table. Fondly he looked down into Alma's happy face.
"I can't get used to this wonderful life," he said gently.
"Nor I," she replied with an answering smile. "I sometimes pinch myself to wake up."
Will's face was somewhat lined and he was partly gray. Otherwise, he was the same Will with the kind, dark, deep-set eyes.
Harold ate his supper hurriedly.
"I'm going to the depot, again, to meet Cousin George," he explained.