holder, as if for the first time. The house was new; he had built
it for them. From the first moment of his thinking of it it had been
designed for Amy. That made it much more than mere house. He was
thinking that it showed up pretty well with the houses of most of their
friends; Amy needn't be ashamed of it, anyhow, and it would look better
in a couple of seasons, after things had grown up around it a little
more. There would be plenty of seasons for them to grow in, he thought,
whistling.

Then he got the gentle sound of Edith's pretty little brougham and went
down to meet them. She and Amy looked charming in there--light dresses
and big hats.

He made a gallant remark and then a teasing one. "Been tea-tattling all
this time?"

"No," smiled Edith; "we took a ride."

"Such a beautiful ride," cried Amy. "Way up the river."

He had helped her out and Edith was leaning out talking to her. "I think
I'd better come for you about one," she was saying. He thought with
loving pride of how quickly Amy had swung into the life of the town.

During dinner he sat there adoring her: she was so fair, so beautifully
formed, so poised. She was lovely in that filmy dress of cloudy blue.
Amy's eyes were gray, but the darkness of her long lashes gave an
impression of darkness. Her skin was smooth and fair and the chiseling
of her features clean and strong. She held herself proudly; her fair
hair was braided around a well-poised head. She always appeared
composed; there never seemed any frittering or disorganizing of herself
in trivial feeling or movement. One out of love with her might find her
rather too self-possessed a young person.

So engaged was Deane in admiring her that it was not until they were
about to leave the table that he was conscious of something unusual
about her; even then he did not make out the excitement just beneath her
collected manner.

He wanted to show her what he had done to the vines and they went out in
the yard. Presently they sat down on the garden-seat which he had moved
a little while before. He had grown puzzled now by Amy's manner.

She was smoothing out the sash of her dress. She sang a little under her
breath. Then she said, with apparent carelessness: "Mrs. Williams was at
the tea today."

He knit his brows. "Mrs.--?" Then, understanding, his face tightened.
"Was she?" was his only reply.

Amy sang a little more. "It's her husband that your friend is living
with, isn't it?" she asked, a