"Don't worry, Belle. When this wall paper gets too much for my nerves I'll go down and sit awhile in 'the parlor.' You should see that."
"Worse?"
"Three horsehair chairs with red velvet trimmings; one rocker to match. An onyx and brass stand with a pink silk drape. A floor lamp with a red shade and a white marble mantel, over a grate that has never had a fire. Oh, yes—a 'good body-Brussels' rug, and the floor-border painted cherry!"
"Heavens! Well, you'll never have to sit in it. And that back room you're going to use for a sitting-room can be made cheerful in time with just a few softening things round. Besides, there's the fireplace. I've a good mind to light a fire, Anne, just to see how it looks. I believe I'd feel better about leaving you alone with this wall paper and that what-not if I got the effect of a fire."
"I'm not afraid of the what-not—wouldn't those ghastly statuettes in the Niche fit perfectly?—but I would rather like a fire. I wonder if Mrs. Jeffries could let us have a little wood."
"I'll ask her." In a moment Belle was back and while Anne undressed Rogie, lit a fire in the back room. When Anne heard the cheerful crackle, her eyes filled with tears but she brushed them angrily away.
"Now see here," she whispered brusquely to herself, "you're not going to get weepy, every time you look at the Bay or hear a fog-whistle or light an open fire."
"Are you coming, Anne? This kindling won't last forever." Belle had not lit the gas and the kindly darkness hid the brown and red wall paper and stiff chairs.
"It's not going to be bad, Belle. It's really wonderfully still, almost as still as the mountains. When the fog-whistles don't go, there'll be hardly a sound outside."
"Nor inside either. Does that women ever laugh, do you suppose?"