So the days and the weeks went happily past, in preparing a home for Theodora. He went over and over very frequently the last few words—"a home for Theodora!" and they sung, and swung, and shone in his heart, and made his life a fairy story. "I never knew what it was to be happy before," he said repeatedly; and it was the truth, for up to this time he had never felt the joy of that mystical blending of two souls, when self is lost and found again in the being of another.
Twice he took a trip to Campbelton, and found all to his satisfaction. His mother was surrounded by her kindred, a situation a Scotch man or woman tolerates with an equanimity that is astonishing; and Isabel and Christina wore their usual air of placid indifference to everything. They were all desirous to know what had been done in the house, but he refused to enter into explanations. "It is ill praising or banning half-done work," he said in excuse, "but I promise on my next visit to take you home with me, and then you will see the work finished."
"And then you will go and get married?" asked Christina, and he answered with a smile, "Then I shall go and get married."
"When you bring Theodora home she will give us a little pleasure, I hope."
"I am sure she will. Theodora is fond of company and entertainments, and she will wish you to share them with us, and that will add to my pleasure also."
"We shall see."
"Do you doubt what I say?"
"My dreams never come true, Robert."
"Theodora will make them come true."
Then Christina laughed a little, and Isabel looked at her mother's dour, scornful face and copied it.