I hadn't realized how large the estate is. Mrs. Vaughan sent this."
"Not so large as it once was," observed Renny, gloomily.
Alayne took the jelly and wondered what she would do with Miss Ware. Eden seemed rather pleased with her.
"Come in," he said, "and let's look at you. We'll pretend you're a bit of blue sky."
They went into the cottage. Minny Ware seated herself in a wicker chair by the open door. Eden's remark had made her radiant. Renny sat on a bench, holding the collars of his dogs. Alayne disappeared into the kitchen, carrying the bowl of jelly. She did not want to be in the room with the girl.
Minny Ware, elated at being left alone with the two men, exclaimed: "Isn't this atmosphere the most depressing!"
"You don't look depressed," said Eden, his eyes absorbing the freshness of her cheeks and lips, the gaiety of her gown.
"It's weather to make a man virtuous," said Renny.
This remark evoked a gush of laughter from Minny, effortless as an oriole's song.
Eden continued to be pleased with her. He said: "I wonder if you are too depressed to sing to me. You promised to, you know."
Minny Ware thought she couldn't, was sure she would disgrace herself by trying to sing on such a morning as this, but after some persuading she threw back her head, clasped her hands before her, in the attitude of a good child, and sang three little English songs. Alayne remained in the kitchen. Covertly she watched the three through a crack in the door. She saw Renny's intent gaze on the throbbing white throat, the full bosom. She saw Eden's appraising eyes also fixed on the girl, who appeared to have forgotten their presence. The first song was of a country lover and his lass, with a touch of Devon dialect in the refrain. The second song told of little birds in springtime innocently building their nest. The third—yes, the third was a lullaby. This she softly crooned,
