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 The girl's eyes followed his.

“Are those curtains velour, Peter?”

“I—I believe so,” agreed the man, unhappily.

“I—I wonder how they look spread.”

Peter seized on this flimsy excuse with a wave of relief and thankfulness to Cissie. He had to restrain himself as he strode across the room and swung together the two halves of the somber curtains in order to preserve an appearance of an exhibit. His fingers were so nervous that he bungled a moment at the heavy cords, but finally the two draperies swung together, loosing a little cloud of dust. He drew together a small aperture where the hangings stood apart, and then turned away in sincere relief.

Cissie's own interest in historic furniture and textiles came to an abrupt conclusion. She gave a deep sigh and settled back into her chair. She sat looking at Peter seriously, almost distressfully, as he came toward her.

With the closing of the curtains and the establishment of a real privacy Peter became aware once again of the sweetness and charm Cissie always held for him. He still wondered what had brought her, but he was no longer uneasy.

“Perhaps I'd better build a fire,” he suggested, quite willing now to make her visit seem not unusual.

“Oh, no,”—she spoke with polite haste,—“I'm just going to stay a minute. I don't know what you'll think of me.” She looked intently at him.