She left him stupefied and tripped up the stairs. In their bedroom, which alone was furnished, there was nothing but a bed, a chest of drawers, and two chairs. She felt a profound discouragement, a sudden desire to weep, but it was only the weakness that precedes great victories.
"Now or never!" she thought, as she heard the soft step of her husband on the stairs. She threw herself into an attitude of inspection, gathering her skirts from the dusty floor, set her head critically on one side, and extended her hand as though to calculate the height of the walls.
"What are you doing?" Fargus said, stopping short.
"I was trying to decide," she answered meditatively, "whether to paper all the room in rose or to use a border."
Fargus leaned against the door for support. Then forcing a horrible laugh, he cried with desperate good humor:
"Say, now, you're a good one, and that's a good joke!"
"As for the guest room—green and white," she continued, passing to the back; "green and white is fresh and clean."
The absurdity of a guest room convinced Fargus. He laughed with a light heart and entered the spirit of the jest.
"Green and white is good," he assented, wagging his head.
"The question is whether to have a double bed or two single ones," she persisted.