nch of yellow daisies; and
by its shape alone, Susan discerned that Virginia had ceased to consider
whether or not her clothes were becoming. But she shone with an air of
calm and radiant happiness in which all trivial details were
transfigured as by a flood of light.

"This is Lucy. She is six years old, and to think that she has never
seen her dear Aunt Susan," said Virginia, while she pulled forward the
little girl who was shyly clinging to her skirt. "And the other is
Harry. Marthy, bring Harry here and let him speak to Miss Susan. He is
nearly four, and so big for his age. Where is Harry, Marthy?"

"He's gone into the yard, ma'am, I couldn't keep him back," said Marthy.
"As soon as he caught sight of that pile of bricks he wanted to begin
building."

"Well, we'll go, too," replied Virginia. "That child is simply crazy
about building. Has Oliver paid the driver, mother? And what has become
of him? Susan, have you spoken to Oliver?"

No, Susan hadn't, but as they turned, he appeared on the porch and came
eagerly forward. Her first impression was that he had grown handsomer
than she had ever believed possible; and the next minute she asked
herself how in the world he had managed to exercise his vitality in
Matoaca City. He was one of those men, she saw, in whom the spirit of
youth burned like a flame. Every year would pass as a blessing, not as a
curse, to him, and already, because of her intenser emotions and her
narrower interests, Virginia was beginning to look older than he. There
was a difference, too, in their dress, for he had the carefully groomed
and well-brushed appearance so rare in Dinwiddie, while Virginia's
clothes might have been worn, with equal propriety, by Miss Priscilla
Batte. She was still lovely, but it was a loveliness, Susan felt with a
pang, that would break early.

"Why, there's Susan!" exclaimed Oliver, coming toward her with an eager
pleasure in his face which made it more boyish than ever. "Well, well,
it's good to see you, Susan. Are you the same old dear I left behind
me?"

"The same," said Susan laughing. "And so glad about your plays, Oliver,
so perfectly delighted."

"By Jove, you're the first person to speak of them," he replied. "Nobody
else seems to think a play is worth mentioning as long as a baby is in
sight. That's a delusion of Virginia's, too. I wish you'd convince her,
Susan, that a man is of some use except as a husband and a father."

"But they are such nice babi