"Very well. Buy me the old Hotel Greensleeve."
He smiled; but she said with pretty seriousness: "I really have been thinking about it. Do you suppose it could be bought reasonably? It's really a pretty place. And there's a hundred acres—or there was.... I would like to have a modest house somewhere in the country."
"Are you in earnest, Athalie?"
"Really I am.... Couldn't that old house be fixed over inexpensively? You know it's nearly two hundred years old, and the lines are good if the gingerbread verandas and modern bay windows are done away with."
He nodded; and she went on with shy enthusiasm: "I don't really know anything about gardens, except I know that I should adore them.... I thought of a garden—just a simple one.... And some cows and chickens. And one nice old horse.... It is really very pretty there in spring and summer. And the bay is so blue, and the salt meadows are so sweet.... And the cemetery is near.... I should not wish to alter mother's room very much.... I'd turn the bar into a sun parlour.... But I'd keep the stove ... where you and I sat that evening and ate peach turnovers.... About how much do you suppose the place could be bought for?"
"I haven't the least idea, Athalie. But I'll see what can be done to-morrow.... It ought to be a good
purchase. You can scarcely go wrong on Long Island property if you buy it right."
"Will you see about it, Clive?"
"Of course I will, you dear girl!" he said, dropping his hand over hers where it lay between them.
She smiled up at him. Then, distrait, turned her blue eyes toward the window, and remained gazing out at the late afternoon sky where a few white clouds were sailing.