sorry you left him? Oh, I want to love him with all my heart . . . and to have him love . . . me."
Meriweather, flying back from the club, found Hildegarde still leaning forth in that golden light.
"You'll be frozen," he said. "I saw you as I drove up the road. You looked like a princess in a tower—"
"It isn't a tower;" she told him, "it's—sanctuary in this restless house."
"What makes you call it restless?"
"Isn't it? Isn't Daddy?"
"I see what you mean. Louis isn't happy."
"Do you think I can make him happy? I've been wondering about it. Sometimes he is like a wild thing that has been caged—his spirit, I mean. Will it tie him down to have a daughter? Will it?"
"Not to have a daughter like you. He is better since you've been here. Less moody."
"Yet—tonight—?"
"I know. But he has probably forgotten all about it by this time. I left him playing bridge with Ethel Hulburt and her crowd. I told him that as the servants were out, I'd better get back here to you. He'll drive the Hulburts home and bring Winslow on with him."
The wind was blowing cold through the open window. "You'll be frozen," Meriweather said again. "You'd better sit by the fire—there's one in the library."
She was chilled to the bone and found the warmth comforting. Meriweather, intent on hospitality, said:
"What you need is a cup of tea."
