"Oh, he's a part of it." Macgowan chuckled, in his odd manner of being inwardly amused over something unspoken. "You see, like every confirmed bachelor who beholds his best friend embarking on the wine-dark sea of matrimony, I have hitherto, my dear Dorothy, been ungallant enough to congratulate you—quite irrespective of your charming qualities—upon the acquisition of your husband."
He paused, regarding Dorothy with his slightly aggressive, straightforward gaze. His air was half reflective, half admiring.
"Well, where's the crime in that?" she demanded brightly. "Don't you suppose that women ever think they are fortunate? We're not all stuck-up prigs, grandly convinced of the blessings we bestow—not a bit of it!"
Macgowan waved his cigar.
"Ah, but I confess my error! It is Reese who deserves the congratulations which I now tender with all my heart, not with the lips alone! Wives are easily found, my dear fellow," turning to Armstrong, "but home-makers are rare, I assure you. So rare, indeed, that I—"
He ended with a sigh and a gesture, as though the rarity of home-makers accounted for his own single state. Then, with a sudden thrust of his cigar, he indicated the rooms beyond.
"Look at this place! Look at that burnt-ivory woodwork, those rugs, these bits of polished wood that we call furniture! Look at those bright yellow valences, those blue curtains, that pinkish splendor of a Kirman on the floor! Why, the raw fighting colors are as sweetly harmonious, as delicately blended, as the vivid hues of some old Chinese embroidery! Only an artist can blend raw colors.
"Thank the lord, there's no formality about this house. Good things in plenty, but no useless frippery made for effect and expenditure. When one comes in here, it's to find a home that's lived in, used, created for comfort and enjoyment. Reese, old man, you're to be congratulated! With the cynical egotism of one who is too largely surrounded by a world of sham, I say that I myself could have done no better with this house. It is perfection."
"And that's a huge compliment, Dot, for Lawrence Macgowan to pay!" exclaimed the beaming Armstrong. "He's a famous critic of the arts. Everybody up and down the Avenue looks to Mac to pass on worthy furniture, Serbian sculpture and all the professional forms of art! On the strength of this compliment, you can go into the house-decorating business and become rich in a month."
"Nonsense, I mean it!" protested Macgowan earnestly. "Absolutely."