"It is all owing to you, dear," he replied. "You like things to look _gentle_ somehow. I could not see myself looking at you in a place with _loud_ things. It was only this morning I was saying to myself, early this morning, I mean"--he gave a quick sigh as he uttered these last words--"I was saying to myself, that we would furnish the house at Highgate over again according to your ideas. We would just leave a couple of rooms for mother, according to her tastes, and you and I should have the rest of the house furnished as you like. Liberty, Morris, all the rest, everything soft, and cloudy, and dim, and you walking about in the midst of the pretty things, and I coming home, and--but, never mind, dear, only I would like you always to feel, that there is nothing under the sun I would not do for you, nothing."