ngly. They
came now into the dining-room and caught beyond that a glimpse of the
living-room. Both wore such an unusual aspect of elegance and grace that
Vincent stared, stopping to look about him. "Looks queer, don't it,"
said Mrs. Powers, "with the furniture all gone. We always move out
everything we _can_, up garret, so's to leave room for dancing."

Oh yes, that was it, Vincent thought; the shinily varnished cheap
furniture had almost disappeared, and the excellent proportions of the
old rooms could be seen. Lamps glowed from every shelf, their golden
light softened by great sprays of green branches with tender young
leaves, which were fastened everywhere over the doors, the windows,
banked in the corner The house smelled like a forest, indescribably
fresh and spicy.

"There ain't many flowers yet; too early," explained Mrs. Powers
apologetically, "so we had to git green stuff out'n the woods to kind of
dress us up. 'Gene he _would_ have some pine boughs too. He's crazy
about pine-trees. I always thought that was one reason why he took it so
hard when we was done out of our wood-land. He thinks as much of that
big pine in front of the house as he does of a person. And tonight he's
got the far room all done up with pine boughs."

They arrived in the living-room now, where the women and children
clustered on one side, and the men on the other, their lean boldly
marked faces startlingly clear-cut in the splendor of fresh shaves. The
women were mostly in light-colored waists and dark skirts, their hair
carefully dressed. Vincent noticed, as he nodded to them before taking
his place with the men, that not a single one had put powder on her
face. Their eyes looked shining with anticipation. They leaned their
heads together and chatted in low tones, laughing and glancing sideways
at the group of men on the other side of the room. Vincent wondered at
the presence of the children. When she arrived, he would ask Marise
about that. At the inward mention of the name he felt a little shock,
which was not altogether pleasurable. He narrowed his eyes and shook his
head slightly, as though to toss a lock of hair from his forehead, a
gesture which was habitual with him when he felt, with displeasure, an
unexpected emotion not summoned by his will. It passed at once.

On joining the dark-suited group of men he found himself next to young
Frank Warner, leaning, loose-jointed and powerful, against the wall, and
not joining in the t