"It's the weeds—this is going to be a wonderful, wonderful day, Dulcie, you're going to be so glad—just think! The tailor and the tailor's missus and all of them are going—"
They were not only going, they had already started. All day long the old house groaned under their leave-taking. All day long Felicia chattered to Dulcie of her plans of how they should find where the old furniture had gone and bring it back; of how they should make the whole house lovely.
Dulcie was shy and silent most of the time, her eyes were still red, she was still numb from her nerve-racking day before, still shamed by the fact that this queer little creature had given her her bed and slept in a chair beside her. Late afternoon found the two of them standing in the empty room that had been the nursery. They had been laughing a little over the absurdity of their situation; the tailor's missus had removed the bed and chair from Mademoiselle's room, and they were furnitureless. But Dulcie was waking up mentally after her day of stupor. "Impractical" as her aunt had proclaimed her, she proved the contrary very quickly.
"Steamer chairs," she decided instantly, "I left two steamer chairs and some rugs over on Ella Slocum's back porch—I'll bet we could get a grocery boy to bring them over for us—"
"Only what good will it do?" she tramped about the great room restlessly, "It's no use, Miss Day, you might better have let me quit —you've got troubles enough without bothering with me—"
"Isn't there room enough?" asked Felicia shyly. "Isn't it big enough?"
"It's big enough for the model stand—" she admitted moodily. "It's a good light. I could paint these silly papered walls—" Felicia sighed. Dear old shepherds and shepherdesses! It was not the gathering twilight alone that let them mist away as she looked.
"Are they so silly?" she asked. "I didn't know." But the girl did not answer her.
"It's no use," that moody creature was muttering despondently. "There's space enough but it's no use. I don't seem to want to do it any more—I used to sit and dream about how I'd do it and how it would make other people dream just to look—it wasn't going to be any ordinary Pandora—it was to be a symbol—a symbol of what goes on in your heart when you're young—before you know about life—oh, I can't chitter-chatter about it—but I used to think I could make it—"
"Of course you can make it," Felicia insisted. "Not just now—" she led the girl to the window, "right now, the first thing you'll have to do is to help me in the garden. Doesn't it look ugly down there? It used to be lovely. Probably as soon as it's lovely again you will walk around in it and dream about your Pandora. I used to dream a lot of things in that garden. Some day, while I'm off sewing on my stupid sewing, you'll come dashing upstairs—and begin! Think what fun it will be when I get home that night! I'll call out, 'Where's my sculptor girl?' And you'll call out—'Here, I've begun!'" Felicia waved her hand into the gloom behind them as though Pandora were already mysteriously there. Perhaps she was!