there, with you, and not in the least afraid with Cynthia sleeping down
there too--and the little bachelor. Think twice, Red, before you decide
on this arrangement."

He glanced at the wall between the two rooms. "Where would be a good
place to have the door cut through? What's behind that curtain? A
clothes-press?"

He advanced to the curtain and swept it aside. It hung in a doorway, and
was of a heavy gray material, with an applied border of the gray-and-rose
chintz. As he moved it light burst through from the other side of the
wall, and Burns found himself looking into the "bachelor's room" next
door.

He turned, with a shout of laughter. "You witch!" he cried, and returning
to his wife laid a hand on either richly colouring cheek, gently forcing
her face upward, so that he could look directly into it. "You meant it,
all the while!"

"Don't be too sure of that. If this room looks like me, the one
downstairs certainly looks like you. I don't want to take you out
of your proper environment."

"My environment!" he repeated, and laughed. "What is it, now, do you
think? Not bachelor apartments, still?"

But she persisted, gently. "Keep the downstairs room, dear, just as it
is. Don't make it a public room, except for necessity. Sometimes you'll
be glad to take refuge there, just as you're used to doing. Leave those
three pictures on your walls, and look at them often, as you've always