“I’m thinking it over.”

Here the Angora came in cautiously.  She saw Jove and the dog saw her; fur and hair bristled.  Jove looked at his master beseechingly—­“Say the word, Dick, say the word, and I’ll give you an entertainment.”  But the word did not come.

“There’s your church-goers, Aunty; always ready to fly at each other.  In order to study humanity thoroughly, one must first learn the ways of the beast.”

“I’m afraid your dog’s a traitor.”

“A traitor?”

“Yes.  Half the time he runs over to the Benningtons’ and stays all night.  I don’t see why he should.”

“Maybe they pet him over there.  Perhaps he wants a hand sometimes, just like human beings when they’re lonely.  If you petted him once in a while, one pat for every ten you give the cat, the old boy would be tickled to death.”

“But I’m kind to him, Richard; he has the best meat I can buy.  I’d pet him, too, but I’m afraid of him.  I’m always afraid of dogs.  Besides, his feet are always muddy and his hair falls out and sticks to everything.”

“Who is his latest love?”

“Patty Bennington.  They go out riding together.  I can always tell, for his stomach is invariably caked with dried mud.”

“Patty Bennington?  The old dog shows good taste.  And I had forgotten all about Bennington’s having a sister.  I was thunderstruck when I met her the other week in New York.  I had really forgotten her.  She is charming.”

“She is a dear young girl.  Ah, Richard, if only you would find some one like her.”

“Marriages are made in Heaven, Aunt, and I’m going to wait till I get there.  But I’ll think it over about coming home to stay.”

“I’ll be so happy!” the old lady cried.  “I’m going right out into the kitchen myself and make one of those cherry pies you used to rave over.”

She disappeared; and Warrington laughed, rose and stretched the sleep from his arms and legs, and went up stairs to dress.  Yes, he would think it over.  There was nothing to hold him in New York, nothing but the craving for noise and late hours.  Why not settle down here?  There would be plenty to do.  Besides, if he lived in Herculaneum he could run over to the Bennington home at any time of day.  His cheeks flushed of a sudden.

“Hang it, am I lying to myself about that girl?  Is it the knowledge that she’ll be my neighbor that inclines me to live here?  I know I shall miss her if I stay in New York; I’m honest enough to admit that.  God knows I’ve nothing but honor in my heart for her.  Why, I wouldn’t even kiss her hand without old Jack’s consent.  Well, well; the scene in the church Wednesday will solve all doubts—­if I have any.”

The Sunday luncheon passed uneventfully.  The aunt said nothing more about his coming home to stay.  She knew her boy; urging would do more harm than good; so she left him to decide freely.

“Is the pie good, Richard?” she asked.