'I thought it was all up with me, Ella; I did indeed,' said George, a minute or two later, his face still pale after all this emotion. 'But tell me—what's wrong with the furniture I ordered?'
'Nothing, dear, nothing,' she answered, blushing. 'Don't think about it any more.'
'No? But your mother was talking about it too,' he insisted. 'Come, Ella, dear, for heaven's sake let us have no more misunderstandings! I see now what an ass I was not to wait and let you choose for yourself; these æsthetic things are not in my line. But I'd no idea you'd care so much!'
'But I don't now—a bit.'
'Well, I do, then. And the house must be done all over again, and exactly as you would like it; so there's no more to be said about it,' said George, without a trace of pique or wounded vanity.
'George, you are too good to me; I don't deserve it. And indeed you must not—think of the expense!'
His face lengthened slightly; he knew well enough that the change would cost him dear.
'I'll manage it somehow,' he declared stoutly.