verything will come out right in the end.... It
always has, so far...."

Archey came in toward noon, and Mary went with him to inspect a colony of
bungalows which she was having built on the heights by the side of the
lake.

Another thing that she had lived long enough to notice was the different
effect which different people had upon her. Although she preserved, or
tried to preserve, the same tranquil air of interest toward them all--a
tranquillity and interest which generally required no effort--some of the
people she met in the day's work subconsciously aroused a feeling of
antagonism in her, some secretly amused her, some irritated her, some
made her feel under a strain, and some even had the queer, vampirish
effect of leaving her washed out and listless--psychological puzzles
which she had never been able to solve. But with Archey she always felt
restful and contented, smiling at him and talking to him without exertion
or repression and--using one of those old-fashioned phrases which are
often the last word in description--always "feeling at home" with him,
and never as though he had to be thought of as company.

They climbed the hill together and began inspecting the bungalows.

"I wouldn't mind living in one of these myself," said Archey. "What are
you going to do with them?"

But that was a secret. Mary smiled inscrutably and led the way into the
kitchen.

I have called it a kitchen, but it was just as much a living room, a
dining room. A Pullman table had been built in between two of the windows
and on each side of this was a settee. At the other end of the room was a
gas range. When Wally opened the refrigerator door he saw that it could
be iced from the porch. Electric light fixtures hung from the ceiling and
the walls.

"Going to have an artists' colony up here?" teased Archey, and looking
around in admiration he repeated, "No, sir! I wouldn't mind living in one
of these houses myself--"

They went into the next room--the sitting room proper--unusual for its
big bay window, its built-in cupboards and bookshelves. Then came the
bathroom and three bed-rooms, all in true bungalow style on one floor.

When they had first entered, Mary and Archey had chatted freely enough,
but gradually they had grown quieter. There is probably no place in the
world so contributive to growing intimacy as a new empty house--when
viewed by a young man and a younger woman who have known each other for
many years--

The