"I believe that's Hosmer." Hannah rose. "It's funny, too, because he
said he'd have to stay at the hotel to-night, there was so much
settling up at the bank."

It was, however, Hosmer Braley. He paused at the parlor door, a man in
the vicinity of thirty, fat in body and carefully clad, with a white
starched collar and figured satin tie.

"I didn't want to drive out," he said, at once bland and aggrieved;
"but it couldn't be helped. Here's a piece of news for all of you--
Phebe is coming home to visit She wrote me to say so, and I only got
the letter this evening. Whatever do you suppose took her?"

Hannah at once flushed with excitement--like, Calvin Stammark thought,
the parlor lamp with the pink shade, turned up suddenly. An instant
vague depression settled over him; Hannah, only the minute before in
his arms, seemed to draw away from him, remote and unconcerned by
anything but Phebe's extraordinary return. Hosmer made it clear that
the event promised nothing but annoyance for him.

"She's coming by to-morrow's stage," he went on, untouched by the
sensation his information had wrought in the kitchen; "and it's certain
I can't meet her. The bank's sending me into West Virginia about some
securities."

Richmond Braley, it developed further, was bound to a day's work on the
public roads. They turned to Calvin.

"Take my buggy," Hosmer offered; "I'll have to go from Durban by rail."