Mrs. Varian half rose from her sofa, and Mr. Andrews thought her lovely and gracious, as every one else did. He bowed to Miss Varian; and, no doubt, he thought they were all angels, as indeed he was excusable for thinking, coming from the dark and hopeless tangle of his own house. The cheer of the fire and the lamp, the odor of the flowers, the grace of the woman who had arisen to welcome him, the kindness of the one who had been kneeling beside his little outcast, the air of order, luxury, peace, all filled him with a sense that he had been living in another world, on the other side of the arbor-vitæ hedge. He was, as has been said, a silent man, and one of those straightforward men who never seem to think that they need to speak when they have nothing to say. He was not silent from shyness, but from simplicity of motive, from a native honesty; consequently, his silence was not oppressive, but natural. To-night, however, there was much to say. There were the details of the broken-up camp at Eel Creek, the various stages of hilarity and depression among the servants, the danger of the children, the probabilities of a slow march, the ludicrous side of the coming midnight court-martial. When they were ready to go in to tea, Missy stayed behind for an instant to tuck Jay's afghan about him and put a chair beside him, and to feel whether his pulse was quick. "Bless him," she whispered, giving him a kiss, "better days are coming." The tea table was as graceful and pretty as possible; the things to eat rarely good, and Mr. Andrews, poor man, had been fasting all day. He despised lunch, and he hadn't had any chance to get a dinner; so no wonder he appreciated the tea that was set before him. Miss Varian was in a good humor, and quite sharp and witty, and whatever Mrs. Varian said, was always gracious and delightful. Miss Rothermel had enough to do to pour out the tea, and she was quite satisfied with the march of events, including Mr. Andrews' appetite, and the complexion of the waffles. She thought of the soupless dinner he had mentioned, and of the alms-house provision of boiled rice and raisins, and she felt for a moment, what bliss to keep house for a man with such an appetite and no ascetic tendencies. St. John was a continual trial to her. But then she checked herself sharply, and thought how deceitful appearances were, and how cruel had been the lot of the woman who had kept house for him, till alas, a month ago exactly. It was a bitter commentary on her fate, that he was able to enjoy broiled oysters so unblushingly within thirty days of his bereavement. Happily, behind the tea-kettle, Missy's dark frown was hidden; but she soon threw it off; she had made up her mind to be amiable for this one evening, and she would not break her resolution.