I suppose John never was nervous in his life. He laughs at
me so about this wall-paper!

At first he meant to repaper the room, but afterwards he
said that I was letting it get the better of me, and that nothing
was worse for a nervous patient than to give way to such fancies.

He said that after the wall-paper was changed it would be
the heavy bedstead, and then the barred windows, and then that
gate at the head of the stairs, and so on.

"You know the place is doing you good," he said, "and
really, dear, I don't care to renovate the house just for a three
months' rental."

"Then do let us go downstairs," I said, "there are such
pretty rooms there."

Then he took me in his arms and called me a blessed little
goose, and said he would go down to the cellar, if I wished, and
have it whitewashed into the bargain.

But he is right enough about the beds and windows and
things.

It is an airy and comfortable room as any one need wish,
and, of course, I would not be so silly as to make him
uncomfortable just for a whim.