“You’ll have time soon, Con, to give it your best thought. Did you do much while you were away?”
“Yes, Lyn, a great deal!” Truedale was sitting by the tiny hearth in his diminutive living room. He and Lynda had demanded, and finally succeeded in obtaining an open space for real logs; disdaining, much to the owner’s amazement, an asbestos mat or gas monstrosity. “I really put blood in the thing.”
“And when may I hear some of it? I’m wild to get back to our beaten tracks.”
Truedale raised his eyes, but he was looking beyond Lynda; he was seeing Nella-Rose in the nest he was preparing for her.
“Soon, Lyn. Soon. And when you do—you, of all the world, will understand, sympathize, and approve.”
“Thank you, Con, thank you. Of course I will, but it is good to have you know it! Let me see, what colour scheme shall we introduce in the living room?”
“Couldn’t we have a sort of blue-gray; a rather smoky tint with sunshine in it?”
“Good heavens, Con! And it is a north room, too.”
“Well, then, how about a misty, whitish—”
“Worse and worse. Con, in a north room there must be warmth and real colour.”