interruption, was still so precious, that though an unnecessary
precaution, I turned the key that I might feel perfectly sure of
quiet hours ahead, and at my sigh of satisfaction I laughed.

Going into my bedroom, which adjoined my sitting-room, I hung in the
closet the coat I had left on a chair, put away my hat and gloves,
and again looked around, as if they were still strange--the white bed
and bureau, the wash-rugs, the muslin curtains, the many contrasts to
former furnishings--and again I sighed contentedly. They were mine.

The house I am now living in is indeed an old-fashioned one, but well
built and of admirable design. The rooms are few--only eight in
all--and four of them I have taken for myself--the upper four. The
lower floor is occupied by Mrs. Mundy and Bettina, her little
granddaughter. When I first saw the house its condition was
discouraging. Not for some time had it been occupied, and repairs of
all kinds were needed. To get it in order gave me strange joy, and
the weeks in which it was being painted and papered and beautified
with modern necessities were of an interest only a person, a woman
person, can feel who has never had a home of her own before. When
everything was finished, the furnishings in place, and I established,
I knew, what I no longer made effort to deny to myself--that I was
doing a daring thing. I was taking chances in a venture I was still
afraid to face.




CHAPTER II