"They all say that woman makes the home," Isabel suggested, idly.
"But not alone. No woman can make a home alone. It takes two pairs of hands to make a home—one strong and the other tender, and two true hearts."
"I hope it won't take too long to make my clothes," answered Isabel, irrelevantly. "He says I must be ready by September."
"Then we must begin immediately. Write out everything you think of, and afterward we'll go over the list together. Come into the library and begin now. There's no time like the present."
"Do you think," Isabel inquired as she seated herself at the library table, "that I will have many presents?"
"Probably," answered Madame, briefly. "I'll come back when you've finished your list."
She went up-stairs and knocked gently at the door of Rose's room, feeling very much as she did the day she went to Colonel Kent to tell him that the little mother of his new-born son was dead. Rose herself opened the door, somewhat surprised.
Madame went in, closed the door, then stood there for a moment, at a loss for words.
"Has it come?" asked Rose, in a low voice.
"Yes. Oh, Rose, my dear Rose!"