n the army.
Cynthy's got a stove."

It was not the way Ephraim would have gone about a love affair, had he
had one. Sam Price's were the approved methods in that section of the
country, though Sam had overdone them somewhat. It was an unheard-of
thing to ask a man right out like that where a girl lived.

"Much obliged," said Bob, and was gone. Ephraim raised his hands in
despair, and hobbled to the little window to get a last look at him.
Where were the proprieties in these days? The other aspect of the
affair, what Mr. Worthington would think of it when he returned, did not
occur to the innocent mind of the old soldier until people began to
talk about it that afternoon. Then it worried him into another attack of
rheumatism.

Half of Brampton must have seen Bob Worthington march up to the little
yellow house which Ephraim had rented from John Billings. It had four
rooms around the big chimney in the middle, and that was all. Simple as
it was, an architect would have said that its proportions were nearly
perfect. John Billings had it from his Grandfather Post, who built
it, and though Brampton would have laughed at the statement, Isaac D.
Worthington's mansion was not to be compared with it for beauty. The
old cherry furniture was still in it, and the old wall papers and the
panelling in the little room to the right which Cynthia had made into a
sitting room.

Half of Brampton, too, must have seen Cynthia open the door and Bob walk
into the entry. Then the door was shut. But it had been held open for
an appreciable time, however,--while you could count twenty,--because
Cynthia had not the power to close it. For a while she could only look
into his eyes, and he into hers. She had not seen him coming, she had
but answered the knock. Then, slowly, the color came into her cheeks,
and she knew that she was trembling from head to foot.

"Cynthia," he said, "mayn't I come in?"

She did not answer, for fear her voice would tremble, too. And she could
not send him away in the face of all Brampton. She opened the door a
little wider, a very little, and he went in. Then she closed it, and for
a moment they stood facing each other in the entry, which was lighted
only by the fan-light over the door, Cynthia with her back against the
wall. He spoke her name again, his voice thick with the passion which
had overtaken him like a flood at the sight of her--a passion to seize
her in his arms, and cherish and comfort and protect her