And there they ate their peach turnovers, seated on the old-time rush-bottomed chairs beside the stove—just as they had sat so many years ago when Athalie was a child of twelve and wore a ragged cloak and hood of red.
Sometimes, leisurely consuming her pastry, she glanced demurely at her lover, sometimes her blue eyes wandered to the sunny picture outside where roses grew and honeysuckle trailed and the blessed green grass enchanted the tired eyes of those who dwelt in the monstrous and arid city.
Presently she went away to the room he had prepared for her; and he lay back lazily in his chair and lighted a cigarette, and watched the thin spirals of smoke mounting through the sunshine. When she returned to him she was clad in white from crown to toe, and he told her she was enchanting, which made her eyes sparkle and the dimples come.
"Mrs. Connor is going to remain and help me," she said. "All my things are unpacked, and the bed is made very nicely, and it is all going to be too heavenly for words. Oh, I wish you could stay!"
"To-night?"
"Yes. But I suppose it would ruin us if anybody knew."
He said nothing as they walked back into the main hallway.
"What a charming old building it is!" she exclaimed. "Isn't it odd that I never before appreciated
the house from an esthetic angle? I don't suppose you'd call this architecture, but whatever else it may be it certainly is dignified. I adore the simplicity of the rooms; don't you? I shall have some pretty silk curtains made; and, in the bedrooms, chintz. And maybe you will help me hunt for furniture and rugs. Will you, dear?"
"We'll find some old mahogany for this floor and white enamel for the bedrooms if you like. What do you say?"