CHAPTER VIII

In a linen frock which matched her eyes when they were bluest Julie stopped for an instant in the drive to look up at Brick House. Twenty-four paned windows gazed benignly back at her from its velvety red surface. The old wrought iron door latch with its curved lift proclaimed it as belonging to that period when men occupied themselves more with making homes and building character and background than with making money. To the girl the mellow old house had a look of brooding tenderness as though in its warm embrace …