Miss Charlotte listened to her cousin's footfall on the stairs with a tender smile of satisfaction; she well knew the value of homely tasks in a dark hour, and that their resumption made tragedy seem impossible.
But left to herself Cousin Peace's smile faded; she dropped wearily into the chair Mrs. Grey had vacated, and, leaning her head on her hand, allowed the tears to gather and drop into her lap. The hope that she must maintain in others it was hard for her to feel. Her cousin was so frail, his life so far removed from the lives and interests of other men that it was easy to imagine it ended. He was certain to continue to work with the same feverish, excited eagerness until his patent was completed, and the doctor had said——
"Here is the bread, Cousin Peace, and the coffee is nearly ready," said Prue, entering, much more cheerful than she had gone out.
Miss Charlotte started up, with her own bright smile. "And I, for one, am quite ready to drink it!" she cried.
Mrs. Grey came back, smiling also, Kiku on her shoulder. "He was shut up, Peaceful, dear," she said, "and complaining bitterly of being forgotten through dinner-time."
Rob brought in the steaming coffee-pot, followed by a procession of three tall boys, each carrying something, ending with Wythie bearing the cream.
Mr. Grey pushed open the door just wide enough to admit his head. "Do I smell coffee?" he cried. "And would you have defrauded me?"
"You are to have hot milk, Sylvester," said Miss Charlotte.