"But I shall. Do you think I'd stay?"
"That's nonsense, Hildegarde. Simply because the beds are full."
"Oh, if it were only a matter of beds," she flung at him, "I'd give up mine. I'd sleep on the floor." She began to sob. "Why, Crispin—Crispin—was mother's friend—she loved him."
Dead silence. Her father staring at her.
Then, in the midst of that pause, the curtains parted, and Meriweather in riding clothes came in.
"How cozy you look!" he said.
Hildegarde could not speak. Carew laughed harshly.
"Come on in," he said. "We are not cozy. We are quarreling. Hildegarde has just told me that she is going back to the farm."
