is, I took that tea with me this afternoon,--I thought probably they had
none in the house; and I wish you could have seen the woman's joy at the
sight of it. I cooked some for her,--she told me how," he said
deprecatingly, for Helen laughed; "and she said it was very good, too,"
he added.

But Helen refused to believe that possible. "It was politeness, John,"
she cried gayly, "and because, I suppose, you presented her with my
lacquered canister."

"I did leave it," John admitted; "I never thought of it." But he forgot
even to ask forgiveness, as she bent towards him, resting her hand on
his shoulder while she put his cup beside him.

"The fire has flushed your cheek," he said, touching it softly, the
lover's awe shining in his eyes; with John it had never been lost in the
assured possession of the husband. Helen looked at him, smiling a little,
but she did not speak. Silence with her told sometimes more than words.

"It has been such a long afternoon," he said. "I was glad to hurry home;
perhaps that is the reason I forgot the canister."

"Shall I send you back for it?" She put her lips for a moment against his
hand, and then, glancing out at the night for sheer joy at the warmth and
light within, she added, "Why, what is that glow, John? It looks like
fire."

He turned, and then pushed back his chair and went to the window.

"It does look like fire," he said anxiously.