Florence had not risen, but remained seated upon the steps, her look and air committed to that mood of which so much complaint had been made. "How do you do," she said. "There's Mr. Ridgely." "Where?" Newland asked loudly. "Comin' in at the gate," said Florence. "He's goin' walkin' with you, too." In this crisis, Mr. Sanders's feeling was obviously one of startled anguish. He turned to Julia. "Why, this is terrible!" he said. "You told me----" "Sh!" she warned him; and whispered hastily, all in a breath: "_Couldn't-be-helped-explain-next-time-I-see-you._" Then she advanced a gracious step to meet the newcomer. But the superciliousness of Florence visibly increased with this advent: Mr. Ridgely was easily old enough to be her grandfather, yet she seemed to wish it evident that she would not have cared for him even in that capacity. He was, in truth, one of those widowers who feel younger than ever, and behave as they feel. Since his loss he had shown the greatest willingness to forego whatever advantages age and experience had given him over the descendants of his old friends and colleagues, and his cheerfulness as well as his susceptibility to all that was charming had begun to make him so famous in the town that some of his contemporaries seemed to know scarce another topic. And Julia had a kinder heart, as her father bitterly complained, than most girls. The widower came, holding out to her a votive cluster of violets, a pink rose among them, their stems wrapped in purple; and upon the lapel of his jovial flannel coat were other violets about a pink rosebud. "How pretty of you!" said Julia, taking the offering; and as she pinned it at her waist, she added rather nervously, "I believe you know Mr. Sanders; he is going with us." She was warranted in believing the gentlemen to be acquainted, because no longer ago than the previous week they both had stated, in her presence and simultaneously, that any further communication between them would be omitted for life. Julia realized, of course, that Mr. Ridgely must find the present meeting as trying as Newland did, and, to help him bear it, she contrived to make him hear the hurried whisper: "_Couldn't-be-helped-explain-some-day._" Then with a laugh not altogether assured, she took up her parasol. "Shall we be starting?" she inquired. "Here's Noble Dill," said Florence, "I guess he's goin' to try to go walkin' with you, too, Aunt Julia." Julia turned, for in fact the gate at that moment clicked behind the nervously advancing form of Noble Dill. He came with, a bravado that was merely pitiable and he tried to snap his Orduma cigarette away with thumb and forefinger in a careless fashion, only to see it publicly disappear through an open cellar window of the house. "I hope there's no excelsior down there," said Newland Sanders. "A good many houses have burned to the ground just that way."