The Visitor

           Imagine,ifyoucan,whattherestoftheeveningwaslike.Howtheycrouchedbythefirewhichblazedandleapedandmadesomuchofitselfinthelittlegrate.Howtheyremovedthecoversofthedishes,andfoundrich,hot,savorysoup,whichwasamealinitself,andsandwichesandtoastandmuffinsenoughforbothofthem.ThemugfromthewashstandwasusedasBecky’steacup,andtheteawassodeliciousthatitwasnotnecessarytopretendthatitwasanythingbuttea.Theywerewarmandfull-fedandhappy,anditwasjustlikeSarathat,havingfoundherstrangegoodfortunereal,sheshouldgiveherselfuptotheenjoymentofittotheutmost.Shehadlivedsuchalifeofimaginingsthatshewasquiteequaltoacceptinganywonderfulthingthathappened,andalmosttocease,inashorttime,tofinditbewildering.

           "Idon’tknowanyoneintheworldwhocouldhavedoneit,"shesaid;"buttherehasbeensomeone.Andherewearesittingbytheirfire—and—and—it’strue!Andwhoeveritis—wherevertheyare—Ihaveafriend,Becky—someoneismyfriend."

           Itcannotbedeniedthatastheysatbeforetheblazingfire,andatethenourishing,comfortablefood,theyfeltakindofrapturousawe,andlookedintoeachother’seyeswithsomethinglikedoubt.

           "Doyouthink,"Beckyfalteredonce,inawhisper,"doyouthinkitcouldmeltaway,miss?Hadn’twebetterbequick?"Andshehastilycrammedhersandwichintohermouth.Ifitwasonlyadream,kitchenmannerswouldbeoverlooked.