"I know!" she cried, after a searching look into his eyes. "You are in love with some one, Kenny, and you are wishing that she were here in my place, helping you to plan the—"
"Nonsense," he broke in gruffly. "Put that out of your head, Viola. I tell you there is no—er—no such girl."
"Then," she said darkly, "it must be the dreadful extravagance I am leading you into. Goodness, when I look at this list, I realize what a lot of money it is going to take to—"
"We're not half through," he said, "and I am not thinking of the expense. I am delighted with everything you have suggested. I shudder when I think how helpless I should have been without you. Didn't I tell you in the beginning that I wanted you to fix this house up just as if you were planning to live in it yourself? Put down all the things you would most like to have, Viola, and—and—well, confound the expense. Come along! We're losing time. Did you jot down that last thing we were talking about? That—er—that—" He paused, wrinkling his forehead.
"I don't believe you have been paying any attention to what—Now, tell me, what WAS the last thing we were talking about?"
He squinted hard at the little blank book in her hand. She closed it with a snap.
"Have you got it down?" he demanded severely.
"I have."
"Then, there's no use worrying about it," he said, with great satisfaction. "Now, let me see: don't you think I ought to have a clock for the mantelpiece?"
"I put that down half an hour ago," she said. "The big gold French clock I was telling you about."