He led her to the fire, where already a kettle was singing blithely, placed there in readiness by some one as yet unknown to Meg, and then he put his arm round her and whispered,
"Does it all seem very different to what you thought, my dear?"
"Oh, no," said Meg, leaning against his shoulder and looking round; "it's ever so nice. And how could you think of all these things by yourself, Jem?"
He laughed nervously, and her glance continued to take in all the things one by one. The little chiffonier which he had bought at a second-hand shop with such pride, because Meg's mother had one just like it; the bright-burning grate, with its little oven and boiler; the two American arm-chairs, looking so inviting by it; the large rag hearthrug, the strips of clean carpet on each side of the table, the red table-cloth, the freshly-scrubbed shelves, on which quite an array of pretty new crockery was set out.
Yes, it was home. Meg looked up in her husband's face with a satisfied glance.
"It is beautiful," she said, taking possession of it all with her heart. Hers and his, their home, for as long as God willed it.
Perhaps something of that thought shone in the man's eyes as he stooped to kiss her upturned face.
So Meg put down her bunch of home flowers, and looked round for something to put them in.
"They are too many for a vase," she said, "or a jug either. I wonder if there's a basin?"
Jem went to a cupboard in the corner and produced a nice-sized one, neither too large nor too small.