She saw the color deepen in his cheeks and a startled look came into his eyes.
"What madness is this, Phil?" he asked, with an effort at lightness.
"It means that I think it would be nice—nice for you and Nan and nice for me. I can see her here, sitting right there in that chair that she always sits in when she comes. I think it would be fun—lots of fun for her to be here all the time, so we wouldn't always be trailing over there."
He laughed; she felt that he was not sorry that she had spoken of Nan.
"Are we always trailing over there? I suppose they really are our best friends. But there is Rose, you know. Wouldn't she look just as much at home in her particular chair as Nan?"
"Well, Rose is fine, too, but Rose is different."
"Oh, you think there's a difference, do you?"
He picked up a book, turned over the leaves idly, and when he spoke again it was not of Nan.
"If you want to go to Mrs. Holton's party it's all right, Phil. I suppose most of the young people will be there."
"Yes; it's a large party."