Part 10

Blushing furiously she turned away. Her father got to his feet, stood looking after her a moment with something very tender coming into his eyes, then took a step toward her and gathered her into his arms.

VIII.--ON ACCOUNT OF THE TEA-KETTLE

"This is the nineteenth day of August," observed Anthony Robeson. "We finished furnishing the house for my future bride on the third day of the month. Over two weeks have gone by since then. The place must need dusting."

He glanced casually at the figure in white which sat just above him upon the step of the great porch at the back of the Marcy country house. It was past twilight, the moon was not yet up, and only the glow from a distant shaded lamp at the other end of the porch served to give him a hint as to the expression upon his companion's face.

"I'm beginning to lie awake nights," he continued, "trying to remember just how my little home looks. I can't recall whether we set the tea-kettle on the stove or left it in the tin-closet. Can you think?"

"You put it on the stove yourself," said Juliet. "You would have filled it if Auntie Dingley hadn't told you it would rust."

Anthony swerved about upon the heavy oriental rug, which covered the steps, until his back rested against the column; he clasped his arms about one knee, and inclined his head at the precise angle which would enable him to study continuously the shadowy outlines of the face above him, shot across with a ruby ray from the lamp. "I wish I could recollect," he pursued, "whether I left the porch awning up or down. It has rained three times in the two weeks. It ought not to be down."

"I'm sure it isn't," Juliet assured him. There was a hint of laughter in her voice.

"It was rather absurd to put up that awning at all, I suppose. But when you can't afford a roof to your piazza, and compromise on an awning instead, you naturally want to see how it is going to look, and you rush it up. Besides, I think there was a strong impression on my mind that only a few days intervened before our occupancy of the place. It shows how misled one can be."

There was no reply to this observation, made in a depressed tone. After a minute Anthony went on.

"These cares of the householder--they absorb me. I'm always wondering if the lawn needs mowing, and if the new roof leaks. I get anxious about the blinds--do any of them work loose and swing around and bang their lives out in the night? Have the neighbours' chickens rooted up that row of hollyhock seeds? Then those books I placed on the shelves so hurriedly. Are any of them by chance upside down? Is Volume I. elbowed by Volume II. or by Volume VIII.? And I can't get away to see. Coming up here every Saturday night and tearing back every Sunday midnight takes all my time."

"You might spend next Sunday in the new house."

"Alone?"

"Of course. You have so many cares they would keep you from getting lonely."

Anthony made no immediate answer to this suggestion, beyond laughing up at his companion in the dim light for an instant, then growing immediately sober again. But presently he began upon a new aspect of the subject.

"Juliet, are we to be married in church?"

"Tony!--I don't know."

"But what do you think?"

"I--don't think."

"What! Do you mean that?"

"No-o."

"Of course you don't. Well--what about it?"

"I don't know."

"Are we to have a big wedding?"

"Do you want one?"

"I--but that's not the question. Do you want a big wedding?"

She hesitated an instant. Then she answered softly, but with decision: "No."

Anthony drew a long breath. "Thank the Lord!" he said devoutly.