seen a woman—a lady—in an apron for years! Please keep it on! And do go on with the—the mess in the dish!”
“The mess”—she bent her brows reprovingly—“it’s mayonnaise sauce. But I don’t think—”
He jumped up to put the bowl in her lap. A sudden twinge in his knee wrung an involuntary groan from him. He walked a little stiffly toward her.
“You have rheumatism! And you sat all the time on that damp grass!” she cried reproachfully. “I thought at first it was the craziest thing to do, but I didn’t dare say so.”
He ignored the charge but smiled at the confession.
“And now you’re not afraid?”
She blushed again. It was very becoming.
“It seems—it seems foolish to act like strangers when it’s been so long—we remember so well—” She sighed a little. He studied her face—so like her sister’s
