Ellery smiled down at her questioning eyes and the intoxicating appeal
of her confidence in him--Madeline's!
"I rather think I am Dick's friend for all I'm worth," he said slowly,
at last. "Even if I were tempted to disloyalty, I should be ashamed to
harbor it with your faithfulness standing before me. And I believe this
very afternoon was a kind of crisis with him--that he was gathering
himself together when I came away."
"And by your help, I dare say," added his wife.
"I hope so. I know but one thing that seems to me more worth while than
the purpose of helping Dick Percival to be what it is in him to be."
"And what is that other better thing?"
"You arrant fraud! Do you need to ask?" he said, laughing.
"Well, comfort yourself. You are to go on fulfilling your two purposes
in life--you and I together."
"I pray we may. I believe we shall," answered her husband earnestly.
"I know we shall, doubting Thomas. I'm one of the women who are strong
in unreasoning faith."
They stood silently smiling at each other for a moment.
"Shall we celebrate the beginning of home with pomp and music?" she
asked. "There's a little time before dinner. Make yourself comfortable.
Push Mrs. Percival up to the fire."
"Mrs. Percival!" Ellery exclaimed, dropping his guilty arm and looking
about in a startled manner.
"Oh, I forgot you didn't know. I've been all over the house this
afternoon, christening our things with the names of the people that gave
them to us. Doesn't it make all the wedding presents seem very friendly
and not at all new? Wouldn't you know, even if you hadn't been told,
that this particular chair was Mother Percival--it's so graceful and
comforting. Dump yourself into it, Ellery."
She pushed him down laughing.
"Ah, I begin to see that you stole your atmosphere. The things aren't so
new after all. They're old acquaintances."
"Of course they are. Isn't it jolly to have 'your loving friends' tucked
around in spirit in every nook and corner of the house, without the
nuisance of having the good people here in the body to disturb our
privacy?"
"I see," he meditated, then went on ungratefully: "After all, I think
I'm more taken with the privacy than with the spiritual presences,
though they can hardly be considered skeletons at the feast."
"I should think not," exclaimed Madeline indignantly. "I love them each
and all--well, with a few exceptions, Ellery. You needn't grin
sarcastically. Now there's the piano--such a piano as I have always
dreamed of but never hoped to own. If I called it a Steinway Grand, I
should know that it was an excellent instrument; but when I call it
'Vera,' it warms and delights my heart a thousand times."