“The landmarks seem all right. Can you bend it?”
“Oh, yes! It is only a bit of a wrench.”
“Sit down. There is a seat here in the porch. I thought you would like it. There is something pleasant in the idea of sitting at the doorway of one’s home.”
“And growing old and watching the oak mellowing. They have left their petrol and shavings here.”
“I’ll dispose of them presently.”
His hands touched hers by accident, but her fingers did not avoid his.
“I did not know that the cottage was to be the victim. I only found out just at the last. How did you happen to be here?”
“Sit down, dear, and I will tell you.”
The quiet tenderness had come back into his voice. He was the comrade, the lover, the father of Lynette, the self-master, the teller of fairy stories, the maker of droll rhymes. Eve had no fear of him. His nearness gave her a mysterious sense of peace.
“What a comfortable seat!”