She got carefully out of bed and tiptoed from the room, closing the door behind her. In the next room, she could see the daylight straggling through the curtains. She threw up the shades and watched it come. A flush of light was in the sky over the mean little houses at the rear; even the houses themselves, not yet touched by the light, had a fresh, waiting look; and in the chicken-yards the hens ran about busily, pecking at something, or nothing. In one of the vacant lots a man was hoeing. His bent back had a look of strength. As she watched him, he stopped his work a moment and looked up at the sky. Then he went on hoeing, with slow strokes. The rooms were filled with light when she came from her bath; and she threw open the windows, and went about getting breakfast with quick steps. She put the plates on the table and paused and went to the door and opened it. The little porch outside, half-shaded with vines, was streaked with sunshine along the floor. She stepped out on to it, holding out her hand, as if to test the warmth. She drew a table from the wall and brought a cloth for it and laid the table for breakfast on the porch. Presently she looked up. A man in the doorway was surveying her with a smile. She came across to him and lifted her face. He bent to kiss it. “Up early, weren’t you!” “I couldn’t sleep—Do you like it—out here?” She waved her hand. “Fine!” He surveyed the table. “Couldn’t be beat! Shall I bring things out?” “I was afraid you might not like it.” She poured his coffee. “Father never liked it—eating out-of-doors—at home.” “This is home,” said the man. He was sipping his coffee and looking contentedly at the vine-shadows on the floor. “My other home, I mean.” “You never had any other home.” “Well—what I called home—till I knew better!” She laughed the words at him, and he nodded gravely. “Father used to wear his hat—some days his muffler—if we tried to eat out-of-doors. So we gave it up. I am glad you like it!” She fell silent, watching the shadows; and he watched her face. She was quiet a long time. The man finished his breakfast—he looked at her. “What are you thinking of?” he asked. She started. “Oh—I—Nothing very much.” She flashed a little look at him and got up from the table. “Better tell me,” he suggested. “It wasn’t anything—not anything that will ever be—anything.” She began to gather up dishes. “Made you look pretty happy,” he said. “Did it?” she laughed out. She stood a moment, looking thoughtfully at the vine-shadows on the cloth.... “It was a coat I saw at Stewart’s, yesterday—a perfectly absurd coat—for me!” “No coat could be absurd for you—not if you wanted it!” “Yes—I wanted it—I suppose.” She looked again at the white cloth and waited. “I think it bewitched me.... It was a Chinese coat, you see!” He looked at her blankly. “A Chinese coat—for you!” She nodded. “I told you it was absurd!”