this--you--the children--that jolly nursery--" he stopped again, looking
out of the window; and his sister looked at him through eyes grown
misty.

"There is no reason," she said, "why you should not call this house
home."

"N-no reason. Thank you. I will--for a few days."

"_No_ reason, dear," she insisted. "We are your own people; we are all
you have, Phil!--the children adore you already; Austin--you know what
he thinks of you; and--and I--"

"You are very kind, Ninette." He sat partly turned from her, staring at
the sunny window. Presently he slid his hand back along the bed-covers
until it touched and tightened over hers. And in silence she raised it
to her lips.

They remained so for a while, he still partly turned from her, his
perplexed and narrowing gaze fixed on the window, she pressing his
clenched hand to her lips, thoughtful and silent.

"Before Austin comes," he said at length, "let's get the thing over--and
buried--as long as it will stay buried."

"Yes, dear."

"Well, then--then--" but his throat closed tight with the effort.

"Alixe is here," she said gently; "did you know it?"