“It sounds heavenly, Hilary…but I’d live in an igloo in Greenland if you were there.”

“There’s a lovely jam closet,” said Hilary slyly. “I thought you’d want one.”

Pat’s eyes flickered.

“Of course I want one. While I live and move and have my being I’ll want a jam closet,” she said decidedly. “And we’ll have Judy’s rugs on the floor and the old Silver Bush knocker on the door that says ‘come in.’”

“The dining-room has a wide, low window opening into the pine wood at the back. We can eat with the sound of the pines in our ears. And from the other window we can see the sunset while we eat our supper. I’ve built the house, Pat…I’ve provided the body but you must provide the soul. There’s a lovely big fireplace that can hold real logs…I left it all laid ready for lighting…you will light the fire and make the room live.”

“Like the old kitchen at Silver Bush. It will be home-like.”

“You could make any place home-like, Pat. We’ll sit there caring only when we want to care for what is outside…wind or rain, mist or moonshine. We’ll have a dog that wags his tail when he sees us…more than one. Lots of jolly little dogs and furry kittens. And a Silver Bush cat. I suppose Bold-and-Bad is too old to endure emigration to a far land.”

“Yes, he must end his days at Swallowfield. Aunt Barbara loves him. But I’m sure it will be possible to send a kitten by express—it has been done. Hilary, why did you give up writing to me?”

“I thought it wasn’t any use. I thought the only decent thing to do was to leave you in peace. Besides, you were taking me too much for granted, Pat. You were blinded by our years of friendship. When can we be married, Pat?”

“As soon as you like,” said Pat shamelessly. “At least…when I’ve had time to get a few clothes. I haven’t a rag but what I’m wearing.”