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But the energy of youth does not stop long to mourn over destruction. Hardly had the ground cooled under that vast heap of ashes when it was torn up for new foundations. Almost overnight a new city began to rise, a prouder city where brick and stone largely took the place of wood. Ruin was swept away and forgotten, men toiled in the busy ant-hill to rebuild their fortunes, and within a year it was done. The city spread along the shore of the lake and far inland, bigger than ever, busier than ever, more splendid and prosperous.
At first, in the general ruin, Laurence had thought himself involved. His rent-producing buildings were gone, and the insurance companies prostrate. But the land remained, and by the outleap of energy and hope in the people, became more valuable than before. Long before the end of the year Laurence was at ease about his property. And so the new house that he had planned began to rise from its deep foundations.
The house became to Laurence a symbol, a personal expression. Indeed, it had been that, from his first idea of it. But as time went on, more of his constructive energy went into it. Checked in another way, an immaterial way, he must still be building something. The house at least was his creation, all his own, and it became a keen interest, almost a passion. The plans were drawn and redrawn till they suited him, he scrutinized each detail, he spent all the time he could spare in watching the workmen. When from the stone foundation the walls began to grow, layer on layer of deep red brick, he sat or lounged about by the hour, smoking one thick cigar after another, impatient, already seeing in his mind the whole structure complete up to the spire on the cupola, and planning the decoration of the stately rooms.
Mary sometimes accompanied him. She made an effort to do so, and to join in his interest. But it was somewhat as she might have joined in a child's play, humoring him, and he saw this. Nevertheless, he was glad to have her there with him, to talk to her about it, to ask her advice. But the ideas were all his—she had not many suggestions to offer, and these were practical ones, about pantries, closets, and so forth. The scale of the house rather daunted her—sometimes she murmured that it was going to be hard to run it, with nothing but raw untrained servants to be had.
"Well, you can train them," said Laurence cheerfully.
He planned the entrance-hall with its stately stair, its niches for statues; the billiard-room on the top floor; the library, with long windows looking out on the lake and a chimney-piece of dark marble reaching to the ceiling.
He wanted the house to be gay, inviting, festive in appearance—yet his plan was rather sombre than gay, grandiose. In spite of himself, what he chose had this character. The wish to make a striking effect, to impress and dominate, was stronger than the desire to please. Perhaps this came from the poverty and bareness of his early life—perhaps from some lingering ancestral memories of the old world. He wanted splendour, but he wanted it somehow aged and mellow, he did not like the appearance of newness. So the colour of the house was dark, dark wood was used in it. When it came to wall-papers and hangings, he chose them of heavy textures and deep colours. A sombre and dusky red was a favorite—he used that in the hall, the billiard-room and the library. He wanted Mary to choose the colour for the parlours, but in the end he decided that too, and it was a dark gold, with heavy double curtains of lace and silk subduing the faint gleam of the walls, and great chandeliers to light it up on festive occasions.