wanted to
preserve the image of her as she grew to girlhood, in the clothes she
had worn? It was not likely, she concluded, and was relieved to dismiss
even the possibility. It would have made too much to live up to, a
present loyalty of obedience which, if Aunt Anne in the heavenly courts
had anything like her earthly disposition, would be the only thing to
satisfy her. Nan didn't mean to do anything definitely displeasing,
especially to Aunt Anne. She simply meant to enjoy to the full the
ecstasy of living, just as if it were going on for a lifetime, under the
same roof with Rookie and having him all to herself. Then she came on
the pink crepe, with its black bows, and gave a tiny nod of satisfaction
there in the attic dusk, and was all in a glow, though it was so cold.

When she came down to supper that night, Raven was reading his paper by
the fire. He glanced up as if she came in so every night, Nan thought.
She liked that. But she was a little awkward, conscious of her
masquerade and so really adding to the illusion of girlhood, ill used to
its own charm. Raven threw down his paper and got up.

"Lord!" said he. "Come here, you witch. Let me look at you."

Nan was actually shy now.

"Why, my darling," said Raven, in a tone so moved she was almost sorry
she had brought it all about. It made too many responsibilities. Which
Nan was she going to be? ("But no kissing!" she reminded herself.)
"You've come back to me."

"I haven't been away," said Nan, recovering herself and treating him to
a cool little nod, "not actually. Like it, Charlotte?" For Charlotte had
come in with a platter, and Nan turned about, peacocking before her
unsurprised gaze. "I found it up attic."

"It's real pretty," said Charlotte. "Them scant things they're wearin'
now, they ain't to be thought of in the same day."

Then, having given the room a last glance (almost a caressing touch
Charlotte had, a little anxious, too, because all comforts were so
important) she went out, and Nan was sitting opposite Raven at the
table, demure, self-contained, yet playing her wildest. It was a game
she knew she was to have entirely alone. The game was that she and
Rookie were living here in this house in some such potency of possessive
bliss that nothing could separate them. She was careless over the terms
of it. She was a child, she was a woman, she was everything Rookie
wanted her to be. Here they were together, and the universe, finding the
combinati