"It did me more good than I could ever make you understand."
"I don't believe it!" said Mrs. Starling harshly. "You mean, it was a clever thing to play lady and sit with your hands before you all summer. It was good there was somebody at home to do the work."
"Not your work, Di," said her husband good humouredly; "nor my work. I did that. Come along and see what I have done."
He drew her off, into the little front hall or entry; from there, through a side door into the new part of the building. There was a roomy, cool, bright room, lined with the minister's books; curtained and furnished, not expensively, indeed, yet with a thorough air of comfort. Taking the baby from her arms, Basil led the way from this room, up a short stairway, to chambers above which were charmingly neat, light, and cheerful, all in order; everything was done, everything was there that ought to be there. He laid the sleeping child down in its crib, and turned to his wife with a serious face.
"How will you stand it, Diana?"
"Basil, I was just thinking, how will you?"
"We can do what ought to be done," said he, looking into her face.
"I know you can. I think I can too—in this. And I think it is right to take care of mother. I am sure it is."
"Diana, by the Lord's help we can do right in everything."
"Yes, Basil; I know it!" she said, meeting his eyes with a steady look.