This house--this house is real, and I'm afraid that won't be a home,
won't be real. That we'll be overwhelmed with--with things!"...

She was interrupted by the entrance of the children. But after dinner,
when she had seen them to bed, as was her custom, she came downstairs
into my study and said quietly:--"I was wrong, Hugh. If you want to build
a house, if you feel that you'd be happier, I have no right to object. Of
course my sentiment for this house is natural, the children were born
here, but I've realized we couldn't live here always."

"I'm glad you look at it that way," I replied. "Why, we're already
getting cramped, Maude, and now you're going to have a governess I don't
know where you'd put her."

"Not too large, a house," she pleaded. "I know you think I'm silly, but
this extravagance we see everywhere does make me uneasy. Perhaps it's
because I'm provincial, and always shall be."

"Well, we must have a house large enough to be comfortable in," I said.
"There's no reason why we shouldn't be comfortable." I thought it as well
not to confess my ambitions, and I was greatly relieved that she did not
reproach me for buying the lot without consulting her. Indeed, I was
grateful for this unanticipated acquiescence, I felt nearer to her, than
I had for a long time. I drew up another chair to my desk.

"Sit down and we'll make a few sketches, just for fun," I urged.

"Hugh," she said presently, as we were blacking out prospective rooms,
"do you remember all those drawings and plans we made in England, on our
wedding trip, and how we knew just what we wanted, and changed our minds