“That's exactly what I'm going to tell you.”
“Impossible!” she protested. “Why, the line and finish would do credit to the finest artisan in America.”
“So I say. Look at the perfect polish of that table! It's like the finish of a rosewood piano.” He touched the smooth surface.
“Of course you're joking?” Mary answered. “No amateur could have done such work.”
“So I'd have said if I had not seen him do it.”
“What on earth possessed him to undertake such a task?”
“The love of a beautiful woman—what else?”
“He learned a trade—just to furnish this room with his own hand?”
“Yes.”
“His love must be the real thing,” she mused.