She was right, of course. All Harniss “talked,” as soon as the news reached its ears. Its most distinguished citizen had a habit of surprising his fellow townsfolks, but he had seldom surprised them more completely. While the Giffords, first of the “talkers,” were holding their whispered conversation above stairs, down in the library Foster Townsend and the new member of his household were talking also, but with far less freedom from constraint. At his invitation she removed her coat and hat and sat in the rocker by the table. He, of course, took the easy-chair. She said not a word. He crossed his knees, cleared his throat, and tried to appear at ease; it was a poor pretense, for he had never felt less so. “Well,” he began. “Varunas got you here safe and sound, didn’t he?” She looked up at him and then down. “Yes, sir,” she said. “That’s good, that’s good.... Hum.... Well, I hope--I hope you’re going to like it, now you are here.” She did not look up this time. “I hope--I mean I guess I shall,” she faltered. “Oh, you will! We’ll try to make you comfortable. Yes, indeed!” “Yes, sir.” “Oh, we will! Now--er--let’s see: Is there anything particular you would like to do this afternoon? Like to go for a ride, perhaps?” She was afraid to say no, but she could not force herself to say yes. If there was one thing more than another she wished to do, just then, it was to be alone, away from him and every one else, to be somewhere where she could cry as much as she liked. She had an inspiration. “If you wouldn’t mind,” she said, hesitatingly, “I think I should like to go to my room--the one I am going to have, just for a little while, I mean. If it will be all right?” He accepted the suggestion heartily. He was thankful for it. It promised, for the time at least, relief from a situation as embarrassing to him as it evidently was to her. “Why, yes, yes! of course!” he agreed. “You got your unpacking to do, haven’t you.... Nabby!... No, never mind. I’ll go up with you myself.” She followed him through the stiff and stately front hall and up the long flight of stairs. In a wall niche at the landing near the top stood a huge vase containing a cluster of pampas grass, some of its plumes dyed a brilliant blue and the others red. The vase itself was thickly covered with colored pictures, figures of men and women in Chinese costume, of birds and flowers, of goodness knows what. The vase had been painted a glistening black and the pictures glued to its surface, in hit or miss fashion. He saw her look at it as they passed. “Mother--er--your Aunt Bella--did that,” he said. “Took her a long time to stick all those things on. She was a great hand for making the house look pretty.”