"We have spoken all we know of it in naming Kiku. Won't you walk into our parlour? We are not spiders," said Rob. "Prudy, please tell Mardy we are come."
Prue disappeared, and the others entered the beautiful parlour of the little grey house. For it was a beautiful room with its extreme simplicity of green walls and high white wainscoting, its splendid old mahogany, fine pictures, books, and with the logs burning on the hearth, which the October wind made it just cool enough indoors to warrant.
Lester Baldwin threw himself into a hospitable chair with a long breath of appreciation. "I see why Uncle John said they had hard work to keep you at home, Hessie, and why you never dream of living in marble halls, but rather in a little grey house."
"Don't you?" said Hester, pulling out the fingers of her gloves, as she stood with one foot extended towards the warmth of the fire for the mere luxury of it, and not because she was in the least cold. "And you don't know it all yet."
"My cousin doesn't mean that for slang, Miss Roberta," said Lester Baldwin.
"Thanks," remarked Rob. "We love to have people like our house. There is something in the dear little old thing that I can't get anywhere else—Maybe it's my own love for it," she added.
"No, it's quality," said young Baldwin. "It has an atmosphere that is quite indescribable that is partly the result of your love for it, no doubt, but it is also the very delightful architecture of the house, its simplicity and harmony, and its venerableness. An artist would envy you it, Miss Roberta."
"Oh, I forgot for the moment that you were an architect," cried Rob, beaming gratefully upon him.
Lydia might be solemn, but she made everybody else light-hearted on such occasions as this. Mrs. Grey emerged from the kitchen to greet her young guests, looking flushed, but peaceful. She and Wythie had been helping Lydia all the morning, and the result was a luncheon that satisfied her housewifely soul.