It might be amusing to go in and look it over," I murmured. "I should
rather like to see the ramifications of a modern house."

Josephine, albeit a little surprised, was enraptured. She promptly
took the lead and I tramped at her side religiously from cellar to
attic, while she peeped into all the closets and investigated the
laundry and kitchen accommodations and drew my attention to the fact
that the furnace and the ice-chest would be amply separated.

"You know, Fred, that in our house they are side by side and we use a
scandalous amount of ice as a consequence," she said, hooking her arm
in mine lovingly.

"The whole house strikes me as very well arranged," I retorted, in a
bluff tone, as much as to say that I saw through her blandishments. I
think she appreciated this. Nevertheless, a few minutes later when we
were on the dining-room story, she rubbed her head against my shoulder
and said, "Just see what a love of a pantry, Fred. Mine is a hole
compared to it. Servants in a house like this would never leave one.
And do look at this ceiling. It is simple, but divinely clean and
appropriate."

"It is well enough," said I, coldly.

After indulging in various other raptures, to which I seemed to turn a
deaf ear, and examining everything to her heart's discontent, Josephine
moved toward the front door with a sigh. Then it was that I remarked:

"So the house suits you, my dear?"

"It is ideal," she murmured, "simply ideal."

"There are things about it which I don't fancy altogether," said I.

"Oh, Fred, if we only had a house like it, I should be perfectly
satisfied."

"Should you? It is yours," I answered.

"Don't be unkind, Fred."

"It is yours," I repeated, a little more explicitly.

Josephine devoured me with inquiring eyes. As she gazed, the
expression of my countenance brought the blood to her cheeks and she
cried with the plaintiveness of a wounded animal, "What do you mean,
dear? It is cruel of you to make sport of me."

"I am not making sport of you, Josephine. The house is yours--ours. I
bought it yesterday. Here is the deed, if you mistrust me," I
continued, solemnly drawing from my pocket the document in question.

Josephine took it like one dazed. She looked from me to it and back
again from it to me, then with a joyous laugh she exclaimed, "Really?
It is really true? Oh, Fred, you are an angel!"

"No, my dear," I answered, as she flung her arms about my neck--for she
does