When Richard came back from his fruitless errand he found both women enjoying the fire, Miss Toland's skirt folded over her knees, her veil pushed up on her forehead. In his enormous relief, Richie felt that he could have danced and sung. He busied himself brewing a hot drink for the older woman.
"Richie," said Julia, with a pleasant childish note of triumphant reproach in her voice, "was worried to death because I was here alone with Anna! Don't you think he's crazy, Aunt Sanna?"
"Why, you two have been here alone?" Miss Toland asked, stirring her chocolate.
"No, we haven't!" Julia answered cheerfully. "I never thought of it before; but this dear old maid either has you here, or Janey, or Doctor Brice's Mary from the village—isn't he queer?"
"It isn't as if you weren't practically brother and sister, Richie," Miss Toland said moderately. "Not too much butter, dear!" she interpolated, in reference to the toast her nephew was making, adding a moment later, "Still, I don't know—a pretty woman in your position can't be too careful, Julia!"
"Oh, Lord, you're an appreciative pair!" Richard said disgustedly, going out to the kitchen for more bread.
Presently Miss Toland complained of fatigue, and left them to the fire. And sitting there, almost silent, Julia thought that she had never found her host so charming before. His rambling discourse amused her, touched her; she loved his occasional shy introduction of a line of poetry, his eager snatching of a book now and then to illuminate some point with half a page of prose.
"Pleasant, isn't this, Rich?" she asked lazily, in a quiet interval.
"Oh, pleasant!" He cleared his throat. "Yes—it's very pleasant!"
"And why couldn't you and I have done this just as well without Aunt Sanna?" Julia asked triumphantly.