She took the lamp to the parlour and stood before the photograph of Ninian Deacon, and looked her fill.  She did not admire the photograph, but she wanted to look at it.  The house was still, there was no possibility of interruption.  The occasion became sensation, which she made no effort to quench.  She held a rendezvous with she knew not what.

In the early hours of the next afternoon with the sun shining across the threshold, Lulu was paring something at the kitchen table.  Mrs. Bett was asleep. ("I don’t blame you a bit, mother,” Lulu had said, as her mother named the intention.) Ina was asleep. (But Ina always took off the curse by calling it her “si-esta,” long i.) Monona was playing with a neighbour’s child—­you heard their shrill yet lovely laughter as they obeyed the adult law that motion is pleasure.  Di was not there.

A man came round the house and stood tying a puppy to the porch post.  A long shadow fell through the west doorway, the puppy whined.

“Oh,” said this man.  “I didn’t mean to arrive at the back door, but since I’m here—­”

He lifted a suitcase to the porch, entered, and filled the kitchen.

“It’s Ina, isn’t it?” he said.

“I’m her sister,” said Lulu, and understood that he was here at last.

“Well, I’m Bert’s brother,” said Ninian.  “So I can come in, can’t I?”

He did so, turned round like a dog before his chair and sat down heavily, forcing his fingers through heavy, upspringing brown hair.

“Oh, yes,” said Lulu.  “I’ll call Ina.  She’s asleep.”

“Don’t call her, then,” said Ninian.  “Let’s you and I get acquainted.”

He said it absently, hardly looking at her.

“I’ll get the pup a drink if you can spare me a basin,” he added.

Lulu brought the basin, and while he went to the dog she ran tiptoeing to the dining-room china closet and brought a cut-glass tumbler, as heavy, as ungainly as a stone crock.  This she filled with milk.

“I thought maybe ...” said she, and offered it.

“Thank you!” said Ninian, and drained it.  “Making pies, as I live,” he observed, and brought his chair nearer to the table.  “I didn’t know Ina had a sister,” he went on.  “I remember now Bert said he had two of her relatives——­”

Lulu flushed and glanced at him pitifully.

“He has,” she said.  “It’s my mother and me.  But we do quite a good deal of the work.”

“I’ll bet you do,” said Ninian, and did not perceive that anything had been violated.  “What’s your name?” he bethought.

She was in an immense and obscure excitement.  Her manner was serene, her hands as they went on with the peeling did not tremble; her replies were given with sufficient quiet.  But she told him her name as one tells something of another and more remote creature.  She felt as one may feel in catastrophe—­no sharp understanding but merely the sense that the thing cannot possibly be happening.