"OUR HOUSE IS AFIRE" Next morning she was up and in her dressing-room and had almost finished her toilette before he awakened.

For the first time in years--perhaps the first time since the end of her happy girlhood and the beginning of her first season in Washington society--she felt like singing.

Was there ever such a dawn?
Did ever song of birds sound so like the voice of eternal youth?
Whence had come this air like the fumes from the winepresses of the gods?
And the light! What colors, what tints, upon mountain and valley and halcyon lake! And the man asleep in the next room--yes, there WAS a Joshua Craig whom she found extremely trying at times; but that Joshua Craig had somehow resigned the tenancy of the strong, straight form there, had resigned it to a man who was the living expression of all that bewitched her in these wilds.
She laughed softly at her own ecstasy of exaggeration.

"The other Josh will come back," she reminded herself, "and I must not forget to be practical.

THIS is episodic." These happy, superhuman episodes would come, would pass, would recur at intervals; but the routine of her life must be lived.