PRINGS A SENSATION, AND PELL TAKES AN OPTION

Lucia's eyes were following Uncle Henry's heaving chair; for the yard was
full of little stones, and the invalid bumped along, not always able to
keep on a smooth track. She smiled as she watched him.

"What was he talking about?" Gilbert asked, kneeling on the floor, and
folding one rug that had slipped away.

"Oh, nothing," Lucia Pell answered. "You know how old people babble on
sometimes about nothing." She turned and looked at him. Still the same
handsome Gilbert! "What are you doing?"

"Nothing. You know how young people go on doing nothing. I'm just rolling
up these rugs and blankets. I'm going to send them away."

Lucia saw the beautiful pattern of one Navajo as Gilbert held it, unfolded,
from the floor. She came over to him.

"You're sending them away--when they're so exquisite?" she asked. "This
flaming one--" she picked it up and draped it around her. "Why, it's like
the sunset. And you do have such beautiful sunsets here, Gil."

"I got them up especially, in honor of your visit," Jones said; and then he
remembered how many times a remark like that must have been made, by many a
lover, as if it were quite original, as if no one had ever thought of it
before!

But Lucia took him seriously, dropped the wonderful blanket and went over
to the door again. "I never grow tired of this view, Gil. It's almost as if
God were an artist and had spilt the colors from His palette. And yet not
that, quite. The colors are more like jewels. The morning's opals; the
noon's pearls; the evening wears rubies in her hair. There's a sort of
beauty that makes one ache. It seems to me sometimes as if I couldn't stand
it--just the way the Grand Canyon got hold of me. Doesn't it affect you
that way--you who have so much poetry in you?"

"Indeed it does, Lucia. I've often watched that sky until I've forgotten
all about my cattle--both of them!" He laughed, and reached for the twine.
He was always turning their serious moments into a jest. As long as she had
been here with her husband, he kept at a distance.

Lucia saw his hand go out. "The string?" she said. "I'll get it." She left
the door, and handed him the twine which he had put on the table.

"Thank you," said Gilbert. "Do you mind putting your finger--there? Never
mind. I think I can do it, after all."

"Oh, do let me help you," she said. "I'd like to." And she leaned down,
knelt beside him, and held her white forefinger o