"Yes, sir; we've been having a great time getting undressed," said the visitor.
"Jim," Anne went on radiantly, "Mr. Rideout and HIS wife lived here years ago, when THEY were just married, and their children were born here too!"
"No—is that so!" Jim was as much pleased and surprised as Anne, as he settled himself with Virginia's web of silky hair against his shoulder. "Built it, perhaps, Mr. Rideout?"
"No. No, it was eight or ten years old, then. I used to pass it, walking to the office. We had a little office down on Meig's pier then. As a matter of fact, my wife never saw it until I brought her home to it. She was the only child of a widow, very formal Southern people, and we weren't engaged very long. So my brother and I furnished the house; used—" his eyes twinkled—"used to buy our pictures in a lump. We decided we needed about four to each room, and we'd go to a dealer's, and pick out a dozen of 'em, and ask him to make us a price!"
"Just like men!" said the woman.
"I suppose so. I know that some of those pictures disappeared after Rose had been here a while! And we had linen curtains—"
"Not linen!" protested Anne.
"Very—pretty—little—ruffled—curtains they were," he affirmed seriously. "Linen, with blue bands, in this bedroom, and red bands upstairs. And things—things—" he made a vague gesture—"things on the dressing-tables and bed to match 'em! I remember that on our wedding day, when I brought Rose home, we had a little maid here, and dinner was all ready, but no, Rose must run up and down stairs looking at everything in her little wedding dress—" Suddenly came another pause. The room was dark now, but for the firelight. Little Jinny was asleep in her father's arms, Diego blinking manfully. Neither husband nor wife, whose hands had found each other, cared to break the silence. But after a while Anne said:
"What WAS her wedding dress?"
Instantly roused, the guest raised bright, pleased eyes.