to talk to you. It makes me feel--comfortable. Isn't it comfortable
here?" Judith paused, overcome by an unaccountable difficulty with her
breathing, but mastered it. "Comfortable and cozy? Aren't you glad you
came in?"

"Comfortable!" He laughed, came two steps nearer to her, and
stopped stiffly. Judith, disposing her soft, silky draperies daintily,
observed him in silence from a big chair which she had taken possession
of rather abruptly, faintly smiling.

"Don't look at me like that," he commanded.

"Like what? Sit down--over there, Neil. Isn't it cozy? Willard's got a
new song that----"

"Willard!"

"Don't be cross. We--haven't very much time."

"Judith, where is this getting us? We're not children. Won't you talk
straight to me? You ought to leave me alone, or talk straight."

"Please don't be cross."

"Cross!" He came across the hearth and stood close before her, awkward
no longer, but splendid with youth in the firelight, his dark eyes
shining.

"You knew I'd come, no matter how hard I tried not to?"

"Yes," Judith breathed.

"And you meant to let me in?"

"Oh, yes."

"And you know, if I come, if you let me, I can't help--can't help----"

"What?"

"Oh, Judith!" He dropped on his knees beside her and hid his face.
Judith did not touch the dark head that she could see dimly in the
shadowy room, outlined against her cloudy white, but she leaned closer
to it, her lips parting softly, her eyes wide and strange.

"I don't want you to help it," she breathed.

"But where will it get us?" pleaded a muffled voice.

"I don't care." Her hand hovered over the dark hair, touching it with
the wonderful, blended awkwardness and adroitness of first caresses.

He brushed the butterfly touch away and raised his head and looked long
at her, slipping both arms round her waist and holding her tight.

"Will you always say that?"

"I don't know."

"Oh, Judith!" Her sweet, flushed face was close above him now, eyes
drooping, lips faintly apart, drawn down to his as gently and inevitably
as tired eyes close into sleep. "Judith, some day you'll have to care."

"Not yet. Neil, don't talk any more."

"I--can't."

"Then kiss me."

CHAPTER SEVEN

It was winter in Green River.

The town, attracting Colonel Everard to it sixteen years before, newly
prosperous, outgrowing its old lumbering days, with the ship-building
industry already a thing of the past, with the power in the little river
awaiting