“Two of them. One is a little frame house in Indiana where my mother lives and where she insists she will always live. It is a very small house, atrociously furnished and heated by a Franklin stove and a coal range, but she likes it. That’s my home--maternal home, homestead--the place where I don’t have to knock or ring a bell, you know. The other home is on the second floor of the big green house at River Street and Fourth Avenue. It is a pleasant place, a very pleasant place, but it lacks life in a way. All bachelor places do. Bachelor places are safe, but they never quite touch the high spots. A bachelor never lives a very rich life and his home reflects that.” “But you think bachelor places are safer?” asked Dick smiling. “It’s always safer to be alone than to risk close companionship, isn’t it?” “I know what you mean,” said Cecily. “I never could see why homes were considered dull places. People in relations to each other always seem wonderful to me. My mother’s home was always exciting to me. There were my mother with my two stepbrothers--who worship her just as I do--and mother and I and mother and father--all of us reacting on each other. Then when I began to keep my own home I found it even more interesting. I am completely responsible for everything that happens in the house; that’s quite a lot of excitement.” “Of course you’re new at it,” said Dick. “In time habit may wear off the edge of looking after my meals and my comfort.” “No, I will not let the edge wear off!” “You won’t,” said Matthew. “Life will deepen for you.” It was odd that, though Cecily was looking at her husband, Matthew was reassuring her. Dick laughed a little. He thought the conversation somewhat obscure and over-personal and poured Matthew another tiny glass of cordial. “Well, I’ve nothing to say for bachelor living. Here’s to charming wives, Allenby, and may you find one soon. Cecily will help you.” * * * * * They met again within a week. Cecily was walking home from the convent one afternoon, where she sometimes stopped to see Mother Fénelon, and she met Matthew at his very doorstep. Cecily felt curiously well-acquainted with him and was glad when he asked to walk with her. She told him about the convent and how much she liked to stop there for a few minutes to feel again the atmosphere of the cloister. “And then you go away with your appetite for home whetted?” “Not because the convent is less attractive than a home in its own way, but they set each other off so stunningly.” He laughed in great amusement. “You have a way of making me most confidential,” said Cecily. They had reached the brick walk leading up to her house. “I’d ask you in, but it’s too near dinner time. Some day you must come to dinner with us.”