“Nothing is amusing,” I said. “I am not amused. I am happy.”
“Oh,” he said, and then he laughed too. By and by he asked:
“Ought I to have waited longer?”
“Why should you?”
“I shall paint here half the year or more,” he explained. “Then, when I must, I shall go to the cities. It will be necessary. I must hold my exhibits, visit the art academies, see what other men are doing—keep in touch with the world. But this shall be my home—our home.”
“Shall we give it a name?”
“I have thought of hundreds and rejected them.”
“Perhaps Jim can name it for us.”
We went to look for him and found him star-gazing. His teeth were beginning to chatter a little, I am afraid, with the sharp chill of the air.
“Jim,” I said, giving him a good hug and kiss, “I didn’t think you would keep a secret from your Zalie.”