“Oh, nonsense!” the man said, heartily.  “Lord—­Lord, I remember Saturday morning, in a little Ohio town, and raking up the leaves, too!  That won’t hurt them.  I wish—­I’ve often wished, that Nina’s life ran a little more in that direction,” said her father, frankly.  “It’s hard not to spoil ’em when you have the chance!  Girls—­well, perhaps it isn’t so bad for girls.  But I look at Ward, now, and I wonder what on earth is going to keep that boy straight.  This Tony Pope, for instance—­it’s too much, you know!  They don’t know the value of money, and they don’t know the value of life!”

“Ward is too sweet to be spoiled,” Harriet ventured, somewhat timidly.

“You like the boy?” his father asked.

“I?  Ward?” She was taken unawares, and flushed brightly.  “Indeed I do!”

“I’m glad you do,” Richard Carter said, in quiet satisfaction.  “I’ve imagined sometimes that you have a good influence on him—­ he’s impressionable.”  He fell into silence, and for some time there was no further speech between them.  Harriet was content to enjoy this restful interval between the hurry and crowding of Linda’s house and the currents and cross-currents that she must encounter at Crownlands.  She watched the green country go by, the trees silent and heavy with their rich foliage, the villages blazing with the last June roses.  It was oppressively hot, yesterday’s storm had not much relieved the air, but Harriet was conscious of a lazy feeling that it did not so much matter now, the weather was no longer of importance.  A mere accident had made it natural for Richard Carter to drive her home, and yet she was pleasantly thrilled by the circumstance.

They flew by the great gates of the country club, and turned in past Crownlands lodge, and Harriet got out, at the steps, and turned her happy, flushed face toward the man to thank him.  A little spraying film of golden hair had loosened under her hat; her cheeks had a summer burn over their warm olive; her eyes shone very blue.  Whatever she saw in his face as he smiled and nodded at her pleased her, for she went upstairs saying again to herself, “Oh, you’re real——­you’re honest—­I like you!”

It was delightful to get back into the familiar atmosphere, to catch the fragrance of flowers in the orderly gloom downstairs, to take off her hat and her hot, dusty clothing, and have a leisurely hot bath; to put on fresh and fragrant summer wear, and to go down-stairs presently, rejoicing in being young and comfortable, and tremendously interested in life.  A maid stopped to question her; there were letters to open; she felt herself instantly a part of the establishment again, and at home here.  The significance of Richard Carter’s parting look, its honest admiration and friendliness, augmented by her own glance at a chance mirror on her way upstairs, stayed with her pleasantly.