It was late the next morning before Girard came down. Justin had had breakfast, and gone; Lois was up-stairs with the children, and Dosia, who had been tidying up the place, was arranging some flowers in the vases when he strode in. There was no vestige of that sick-hearted, imploring maiden of the night before; no desolate frenzy was to be seen in this trim, neat, capable little figure, clad in blue gingham, that made her throat very white, her hair very fair. Something in Girard's glance seemed to show an instant pleasure that she should be the one to greet him, but he bent anxiously over the watch he held in his hand. "Will you tell me what time it is? My watch has stopped." "It's half-past nine," said Dosia. "Half-past _nine_!" He looked at her in a sort of quick, horrified arraignment. "What do you mean?" His eye fell upon the clock, and conviction seemed to steal upon him against his will. "Heavens and earth, why wasn't I called? On this morning of all others, when every moment's of importance! I thought I asked particularly to be waked early." "I suppose they thought you were tired and needed the rest," apologized Dosia. "Needed the rest!" His tone was poignant; he looked outraged; but his anger was entirely impersonal--there was in it even a sort of boyish appeal to her, as if she must feel it, too. "You had better sit down and have some breakfast." "Oh, _breakfast_!" His gesture deprecated her evident intention. "Please don't. Thank you very much, but I don't want any breakfast; I only want to get to town." "There isn't any train for twenty-five minutes, so you might as well sit down and eat," said Dosia firmly. "Come out to this little table on the piazza." She led the way to the screened corner at the end, sweet with the honeysuckle that swung its long loops in the wind, and faced him sternly. "Do you take coffee?" "Please don't, please don't cook me anything! I'd hate to trouble you." He seemed so distressed that she relented a little. "A glass of milk and some fruit, then; you'll _have_ to take that." "Very well--if I must. Can't I get the things myself?" "No." She ran away to get them for him, with some new joy singing in her heart as she went backward and forward, bringing a pitcher of milk, a glass, a dish of strawberries, some cream, and the sugar, sitting down herself by the table afterward as he ate and drank. He gave her a sudden smile, so surprised and pleased that the color surged in her cheeks. "I'm not used to this," he said simply. "What is that dress you have on--silk?" [Illustration: SHE TOOK THE PISTOL FROM HIS RELAXED HOLD] "No, it's cotton; do you like it?" "_Very_ much. Oh, please don't get up--Zaidee wasn't calling you. I won't eat another mouthful unless you stay just where you are--please!" "Well!" said Dosia, with laughing pleasure.