"And this Peter Morrison and John are our guests for dinner?"

"Yes," said Eileen. "I am going to show them this valley inside
and out. I'm so glad it's spring. We're at our very best. It
would be perfectly wonderful to have an author for a neighbor,
and he must be going to build a real house, because he has his
architect with him; and John says that while he is young, he has
done several awfully good houses. He has seen a couple of them
in in San Francisco."

Linda shrugged her shoulders.

"Up the flue goes Marian's chance of drawing the plans for John
Gilman's house," she said. "I have heard him say a dozen times
he would not build a house unless Marian made the plans."

Eileen deftly placed the strand of hair and set the jewelled pin
with precision.

"Just possibly things have changed slightly," she suggested.

"Yes," said Linda, "I observe that they have. Marian has sold
the home she adored. She is leaving friends she loved and
trusted, and who were particularly bound to her by a common grief
without realizing exactly how it is happening. She certainly
must know that you have taken her lover, and I have not a doubt
but that is the reason she has discovered she can no longer work
at home, that she must sell her property and spend the money
cooped up in a city, to study her profession further."