"It's lovely—lovely!
"One thing I do think you'll like—a surprise, Katie! Shut your eyes and let me lead you!"
She shut her eyes. She would have let him lead her anywhere. A bead portière parted, slid over her, fell together again like tinkling rain; they climbed a flight of stairs, a door opened and shut.
"Now, Kate! Look!"
She looked, and saw the studio that Joe had gotten ready for her, for a surprise—the skylight, starred with a patter of summer rain; the most elaborate easel she had ever seen, all screws and shelves; the fireplace framed in glazed caramel-colored tiles. She saw Joe's shining face, and burst into tears, flinging her arms around his neck, smashing the cornflowers in his buttonhole, covering him with wet, worshiping kisses.
"Oh, Joe, you angel! I'll paint something wonderful here, you see if I don't!"
And she began his portrait the next week. But it didn't get along very fast, there was so much to do—the house to put in order, thank—you notes still to write, callers coming all the time. She couldn't settle to anything in the afternoons, when any minute the doorbell might ring and Lizzie in her clean apron would bring up more cards on the Sèvres plate that had been Nellie Verlaine's wedding present.
Aunt Sarah Whipple came, inclosed in her coupé like a priceless antique only shown to the public in a glass case, and with her came her Victorian-ringleted
