It was only by making a very great effort that he was able to speak naturally, with any simplicity.
"Besides," he added quickly, "it's really too expensive. A hundred a year is absurd."
"If it were two hundred a year it wouldn't be a penny too much if you really like it, if you will feel happy and at home in it. I'm going to furnish it for you, quite simply, of course. Just rugs and a divan or two, and a screen to shut out the door, two or three pretty comfortable chairs, some draperies—only thin ones, nothing heavy to spoil the acoustics—a few cushions, a table or two. Oh, and you must have a spirit-lamp, a little batterie de cuisine, and perhaps a tea-basket."
"But, my dear Charmian—"
"Hush, old boy! You have genius, but you don't understand these things. These are the woman's things. I shall love getting together everything. Surely you don't want to spoil my little fun. I've made a failure of your workroom in Kensington. Do let me try to make a success of the studio."
What could Claude do but thank her, but let her have her way?
The studio was taken for three years and furnished. For days Charmian talked and thought of little else. She was prompted, carried on, by two desires—one, that Claude should be able to work hard as soon as possible; the other, that people should realize what an energetic, capable, and enthusiastic woman she was. The Madame Sennier spirit attended her in her goings out and her comings in, armed her with energy, with gaiety, with patience.
When at length all was ready, she said:
"Claude, to-morrow I want you to do something for me."
"What is it? Of course I will do it. You've been so good, giving up everything for the studio."