In the long, sunny room at the top of the house he heard her feet on the stairs. Then the door opened and she came in, wearing a blue dress, with a rose in her belt—taller than he had expected, and too thin. He stood up politely, beside the window seat from where he had been watching her in the garden.

He was not altogether unprepared to see her here, for he had found his door unlocked the night before. A hasty investigation had shown him that nothing had been moved. His desk was the same, his clothes were still there. At least no one was living in the room. Neither was there a two years’ accumulation of dust. Someone came in and out, then, but left his things alone.

Sabrina paused just inside the door, and stood for a moment, the knob still in her hand, glancing about her with questioning eyes.

“Please come in,” said Hilary from the window. “You won’t mind me, will you?”

Sunlight streamed through the casements toward her, making diamond-shaped nuggets of warm gold on the floor. The blended reds and blues and greens and browns of books, carpets, and old polished wood were lovelier than ever before to her eager gaze. How silly she had been ever to feel frightened here. Everything in the room seemed to shine and glow with welcome. She ought to apologize to it for such foolishness.

“Hullo again,” whispered Sabrina, shamefaced.

“Hullo,” said Hilary, surprised.

Obviously quite unaware of him, full of housewifely purpose, she went to set the casement windows wide to the morning air, kneeling on the window seat to the left of him as she did so.

“There,” she said with satisfaction, under her breath. “That’s better.” And she sat back on her heels against the cushions, her elbows on the sill, looking down into the garden and pondering something deep within her mind.

Hilary sat down cautiously on the other end of the window seat and watched her, wondering what was in her thoughts. He was infinitely grateful to her for this unconscious companionship, and dared to hope that his presence was not going to upset her or frighten her away. So far she had not noticed him at all, nor seemed to sense any difference in the room as she had grown accustomed to it. And then his hope darted ahead of that purely negative comfort. Even if she knew he was there—would she mind?

At last she spoke again, very low, to herself.

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t talk to him sometimes— up here,” she said.

“Who, me?” said Hilary, delighted. “Why not?”