Roberta looked, and nodded delightedly.  “It certainly is, only still wider and higher.  What a splendid one!  And what a room!  Oh, how could they leave it?  Imagine it furnished, and lived in.”

“Imagine it!  And a great fire on this hearth.  It would take in an immense log, wouldn’t it?”

“Poor hearth!” She turned again to it, and her glance sobered.  “So cold now, even on a July day, after having been warmed with so many fires.”

“Shall we warm it?” He took an eager step toward her.  “Shall we build our own home fires upon it?”

Startled, she stared at him, the blue of her eyes growing deep.  He smiled into them, his own gleaming with satisfaction.

“Richard!  What do you—­mean?”

“What I say, darling.  Could you be happy here?  Should you like it better than the Kendrick house?—­gloomy old place that that is!”

“But—­your grandfather!  We—­we couldn’t possibly leave him lonely!”

“Bless your kind heart, dear—­we couldn’t.  Shall we make a home for him here?”

“Would he be content?”

“So content that he’s only waiting to know that you like it, and he’ll tell you so.  The plan is this, Robin—­if you approve it.  Three months of the year grandfather will stay in the old home, the hard, winter months, and if you are willing, we’ll stay with him.  The rest of the year—­here, in our own home.  Eh?  Do you like it?”

She stood a moment, staring into the empty fireplace, her eyes shining with a sudden hint of most unwonted tears.  Then she turned to him.

“Oh, you dear!” she whispered, and was swept into his arms.

“Then you do like it?” he insisted, presently.

“Like it!  Oh, I can’t tell you.  To have such a home as this, so like the old one, yet so wonderful of itself.  To make it ours—­to put our own individuality into it, yet never hurt it.  And that garden!  What will mother say?  Oh, Richard—­I was never so happy in my life!”

He knew that was true of himself, for his heart was full to bursting, with the success of his scheming.  They walked the length of the long room, looked out of each window, returned to the fireplace.  He held her fast and whispered in her ear: 

“Robin, I can see all sorts of things in this room.  I saw them the minute I came into it first, a month ago.  I’ve stood here, dreaming, more than once since then.  I see ourselves, living here, and—­I see—­Robin—­I see—­little figures!”

She nodded, with her face against his breast.  He lifted her face, and his lips met hers in such a meeting as they had not yet known.  Richard’s heart beat hard with the sure knowledge of that which he had only dared before to believe would be true—­that his wife would rejoice to be the mother of his children.  Not in vain had this young man looked into child faces and brought joy to their eyes; he had learned that life would never be complete without children of his own.  And now he knew, certainly, that this woman whom he loved would gladly join her superb young life with his in the bringing of other lives into the world, with their full heritage, and not a drop withheld.  It was a wondrous moment.