So Michael, his eyes tender, his voice gentle, because she had cared to know, told her eloquently of Buck, till when he had finished her eyes were wet with tears; and she looked so sweet that he had to turn his own eyes away to keep from taking the lovely vision into his arms and kissing her. It was a strange wild impulse he had to do this, and it frightened him. Suppose some day he should forget himself, and let her see how he had dared to love her? That must never be. He must put a watch upon himself. This sweet friendship she had vouchsafed him must never be broken by word, look or action of his. And from that morning there came upon his manner a change, subtle, intangible,—but a change. They read and talked together, and Michael opened his heart to her as he had not yet done, about his work in the alley, his farm colony, and his hopes for his people; Starr listened and entered eagerly into his plans, yet felt the change that had come upon him, and her troubled spirit knew not what it was. Chapter XXVII All this while Michael had been in daily communication with Sam, as well as with Will French, who with Hester’s help had kept the rooms in the alley going, though they reported that the head had been sorely missed. Sam had reported daily progress with the house and about two weeks before Michael’s release from quarantine announced that everything was done, even to the papering of the walls and oiling of the floors. A fire had been burning in the furnace and fireplaces for several weeks, so the plaster was thoroughly dry, and it was Michael’s plan that Starr and her father were to go straight down to the farm as soon as they were free to leave the house. To this end Hester and Will had been given daily commissions to purchase this and that needful article of furniture, until now at last Michael felt that the house would be habitable for Starr and her precious invalid. During the entire winter Michael had pleased himself in purchasing rugs here and there, and charming, fitting, furniture for the house he was building. A great many things,—the important things,—had already been selected, and Michael knew he could trust Hester’s taste for the rest. For some reason he had never said much to Starr about either Hester or Will, perhaps because they had always seemed to him to belong to one another, and thus were somewhat set apart from his own life. But one morning, Starr, coming into the library where Michael was telephoning Hester about some last purchases she was making, overheard these words: “All right Hester, you’ll know best of course, but I think you better make it a dozen instead of a half. It’s better to have too many than too few; and we might have company, you know.”