Well!  What was she to think?  He had been sure, to build this and bring her to it!  And yet—­it was no house for a home; no expensive bungalow; not even a summer cottage.  Only a “stout little cabin,” such as might house a hunter on a winter’s night; the only thing about it which looked like luxury the chimney of cobblestones taken from the hillside below, which meant the possibility of the fire inside without which one could hardly spend an hour in the small shelter on any but a summer day.  Suddenly she understood.  It was the sheer romance of the thing which had appealed to him; there was no audacity about it.

He was watching her anxiously as she stared at the cabin; she came suddenly to the realization of that.  Then he threw himself off his horse as they neared the rail fence, fastened him, and came back to Roberta.  Near-by, Stephen was taking Rosamond down and she was exclaiming over the charm of the place.

Richard came close, looking straight up into Roberta’s face, which was like a wild-rose for colouring, but very sober.  Her eyes would not meet his.  His own face had paled a little, in spite of all its healthy, outdoor hues.

“Oh, don’t misunderstand me,” he whispered.  “Wait—­till I can tell you all about it.  I was wild to do something—­anything—­that would make you seem nearer.  Don’t misunderstand—­dear!”

Stephen’s voice, calling a question about the horses, brought him back to a realization of the fact that his time was not yet, and that he must continue to act the part of the sane and responsible host.  He turned, summoning all his social training, and replied to the question in his usual quiet tone.  But, as he took her from her horse, Roberta recognized the surge of his feeling, though he controlled his very touch of her, and said not another word in her ear.  She had all she could do, herself, to maintain an appearance of coolness under the shock of this extraordinary surprise.  She had no doubt that Rosamond and Stephen comprehended the situation, more or less.  Let them not be able to guess just how far things had developed, as yet.

Rosamond came to her aid with her own freely manifested pleasure in the place.  Clever Rosy! her sister-in-law was grateful to her for expressing that which Roberta could not trust herself to speak.

“What a dear little house, a real log cabin!” cried Rosamond as the four drew near.  “It’s evidently just finished; see the chips.  It opens the other way, doesn’t it?  Isn’t that delightful!  Not even a window on this side toward the road, though it’s back so far.  I suppose it looks toward the valley.  A window on this end; see the solid shutters; it looks as if one could fortify one’s self in it.  Oh, and here’s a porch!  What a view—­oh, what a view!”

They came around the end of the cabin together and stood at the front, surveying the wide porch, its thick pillars of untrimmed logs, its balustrade solid and sheltering, its roof low and overhanging.  From the road everything was concealed; from this aspect it was open to the skies; its door and two front windows wide, yet showing, door as well as windows, the heavy shutters which would make the place a stronghold through what winter blasts might assault it.  From the porch one could see for miles in every direction; at the sides, only the woods.