“She comes and goes; she’s pretty old now,” David said, as Flora merely seemed to be waiting patiently for Gabrielle to go.
“She’ll come over to see me, or I’ll go into Keyport and find her,” Gabrielle promised. “Ah,” she said, on a long sigh, departing, “it’s so good to be home!”
The door shut behind her; there was utter silence in the room. Flora, who usually had her knitting at this time, sat back with leaden, closed eyes; David glanced at her, looked back at the fire.
“Is she like what you expected?” David asked.
“She’s like nothing—nobody,” Flora answered, in a low tone.
“She’s handsome!” David offered. “Poor child!”
Flora made no answer. She opened her eyes, and began to knit, flinging the granite-gray yarn free with little flying jerks. David was mending the fire when Hedda came stolidly in to announce dinner.
Gabrielle joined them on the way downstairs; David smiled at her.
“Seems strange to be home?”
“It seems,” she said, “as if I had never been away! The old rooms, the old things, this old good feeling of the first autumn cold in the house—and that loud sound of the sea——”