"But it is. Only they'll never let me see you alone, and I like to. I like 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----"
"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."
"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?"
"And you know, if I come, if you let me, I can't help--can't help----"
"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.
"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."
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 development, money in the small but thriving bank, and a new spirit everywhere, beyond the control of old leaders, too progressive for a provincial magnate's direction, had been in the interesting and dangerous condition of a woman ready for her next love affair; if the right man comes, she may live happy ever after, but even if the wrong man comes, a flirtation is due. Like a woman again, the town showed the strength of his hold on her in his absence; in winter, when the big, unfriendly house was shuttered and closed, the ladies of the inner circle wore out their summer evening gowns at mild winter gayeties, church socials, Village Improvement Society bridge parties, and the old-fashioned supper parties which the Nashes and Larribees and Saxons still ventured to give.