"Come into the other room," she murmured, "or we shall wake the
baby." Her voice was softly excited.

Eudora led the way into the parlor, upon whose walls hung some
really good portraits and whose furnishings still merited the
adjective magnificent. There had been opulence in the Yates
family; and in this room, which had been conserved, there was
still undimmed and unfaded evidence of it. Eudora drew aside a
brocade curtain and sat down on an embroidered satin sofa.
Lawton sat beside her.

"This room looks every whit as grand as it used to look to me
when I was a boy," he said.

"It has hardly been opened, except to have it cleaned, since you
went away," replied Eudora, "and no wear has come upon it."

"And everything was rather splendid to begin with, and has
lasted. And so were you, Eudora, and you have lasted. Well,
what about my answer, dear girl?"

"You have to hear something first."

Lawton laughed. "A confession?"

Eudora held her head proudly. "No, not exactly," said she. "I am
not sure that I have ever had anything to confess."

"You never were sure, you proud creature."