He looked around the room slowly until his eyes rested on a wide casement window opening out over a deep sill on which blood-red geraniums nestling in the rich green foliage of the plant, grew in a box. Faintly, against the skyline as he looked through this window he saw the curving outline of a hill. The window panes, swung inward, were divided into small squares by the crosspieces. "That," he said, without turning his eyes from the window. "I knew----." She hesitated. He glanced toward her inquiringly. "I knew you would," she said. "That is my window. The hill you see from it is my hill. Did you ever read the verse by Martha Haskell Clark that inspired the designing of that window?" He shook his head. She rose and crossed to the window and stood framed to her waistline in the outer casement. She looked out into the night, toward "her" hill, the fingers of one hand touching the petals of one of the crimson blossoms. Softly she recited: "Life did not bring me silken gowns, Nor jewels for my hair, Nor sight of gabled, foreign towns In distant countries fair, But I can glimpse, beyond my pane, a green and friendly hill, And red geraniums aflame upon my window-sill. "The brambled cares of everyday, The tiny humdrum things, May bind my feet when they would stray, But still my heart has wings, While red geraniums are bloomed against my window-glass, And low above my green-sweet hill the gypsy wind-clouds pass. "And if my dreamings ne'er come true, The brightest and the best, But leave me lone my journey through, I'll set my heart at rest, And thank Thee, God, for home-sweet things, a green and friendly hill, And red geraniums aflame upon my window-sill." He gazed into the empty fireplace as the words of the verse sang through his mind. "But still my heart has wings," "Gypsy wind-clouds," "And if my dreamings ne'er come true ... I'll set my heart at rest." He mused over them. His heart had wings to soar high with his soul in the ecstasy of his new-found love. And if his dreaming never came true, could he set his heart at rest? Or, her dreams, her expectation of happiness with Gibson--when they were shattered, could she set her heart at rest and thank her God for "home-sweet things," her "green and friendly hill, and red geraniums aflame upon her window-sill"? He looked up from the ashes of the fireplace, where flames had sparkled to cheer and comfort her. She was still looking out toward her "green and friendly" hill and the listlessness of her outline told him that she, too, was musing. He longed to know her thoughts. Very slowly she turned her face toward him. There was a suggestion of somberness in her eyes as she looked down at him. "I arranged this window just for that," she said. "Why did you know I would choose it as the part of the room I liked best?" he asked.