Richard disposed of his awkward length in an opposite chair, his big bony hands interlocked.  In the fire and candlelight Julia looked very young, her loosened hair glimmering against the back of her chair, her thin white skirts spreading in a soft circle above her slipper buckles.  The man noticed the serene rise and fall of her breast under her thin blouse, the content in her half-shut blue eyes.  He let his thoughts play for a moment with the perilous dream that she belonged here at his hearth, that her sweetness, her demure happiness, her earnest interest in everything that concerned him, were all his by right.

“I don’t quite know what to do about this!” he said gruffly.

“What—­our being here?” Julia looked surprised.  “Why, Richie, what can we do?  Do you think it matters, one night?  After all, we’re brother and sister-in-law!”

“Almost,” said Richie, with a laugh.

“Why, Rich, I would never give it one moment’s thought; not if I stayed here a month!” Julia assured him.  “And neither would any one else.  Don’t be so silly!”

“It’s not me; but it isn’t fair to you!” Richard said.

Julia had grown a little red.  Now she stared into the fire.

“This sort of fuss isn’t like you, Rich,” she said presently, with an uncomfortable laugh.  “You—­you don’t usually talk about such things!”

“No, I know I don’t,” Richard admitted, untouched by her reproach.  “I could go up to Porter’s and try to get Aunt Sanna by telephone!” he muttered.

Julia was displeased, and made no answer, and presently he got up and went out.  She sat there listening to the rattle of dishes in the kitchen, until a splash announced the dishpan emptied under the oak trees, and the Chinese through with his work for the night.  After a while she went to the doorway, and stared out at the starry sky and the dark on darkness that marked masses of trees and long spurs of the mountain.  The air was sweet and chilly, frogs were peeping, from somewhere near came the steady rush of a swollen creek.

While Julia stood on the porch a livery hack from the village creaked up, and stopped ten feet away.  The horses were blowing on the steep grade, and a strong odour from the animals and their sweated harness smote the pure night air.  The carriage lanterns sent a wavering brightness across the muddy road, the grass looked artificial in the yellow light.  Miss Toland, vociferating apology and explanation, emerged from the carriage.

When Richard came back from his fruitless errand he found both women enjoying the fire, Miss Toland’s skirt folded over her knees, her veil pushed up on her forehead.  In his enormous relief, Richie felt that he could have danced and sung.  He busied himself brewing a hot drink for the older woman.

“Richie,” said Julia, with a pleasant childish note of triumphant reproach in her voice, “was worried to death because I was here alone with Anna!  Don’t you think he’s crazy, Aunt Sanna?”