Jane stood there on the foundations, clad in the ample and voluminous fashion of the day and topped off with a distinctly stylish hat. She had had a long regimen of fencing and dumbbells, and her self-imposed superintendence of the new house had led to many hours spent in the open air. Her hair was blowing airily about her face, and on her cheek there was a slight flush—produced, perhaps, by her own question.
"Decidedly," replied Bingham, promptly.
"Thanks. There's always room for improvement. It's the biggest room in the world, somebody says."
She gave another look at her corner-stone. "Well, what do they do after the last sad rites? They go home, don't they? Yes; let's go home."
"Suppose I drive you down? I'm going your way."
"I have got a nickel, somewhere," said Jane, "and I was going back on the elevated, for a change; but—well, all right."
And she let him help her into the buggy.
"Monstrous big house, isn't it?" she commented, as she overlooked the foundations from this loftier point. "I don't know how we are ever going to fill it."
"Oh yes, you will," said Bingham, gathering up the lines. "Your father and mother, and your brother and Rosy…"
"I don't know as to Truesdale; he's such a fly-about. You can't depend very much on him. And I don't feel any too sure about Rosy, either," she added, inwardly.