She babbled on delightedly. The sun threw the patterns of the latticed windows on the dark and polished oak floor. She opened one of the casements, and let in the soft sweet spring air. The birds were singing gaily in the garden. "It's all heavenly," she said. "This room sums it up. Oh, why does anybody live in a town?" Her father was hardly less pleased than she. Except for the blow dealt him fifteen years before by the death of his wife, the fates had been very kind to him. The acuteness of that sorrow had long since passed away, and the tenderness in his nature had diffused itself over the children that her love had given him. The satisfaction of his life--his successful work, his friendships, his pastimes, the numerous interests which no lack of money or opportunity ever prevented his following up--were all sweetened to him by the affection and devotion that was his in his home. And his home was the best of all the good things in his life. It came to him now, as he stood by the window with his daughter,--the beautiful spacious room which they would adapt to their happy life on one side of him, the peaceful sunlit bird-haunted charm of the garden on the other,--that this new setting would heighten and centralise the sweet intimacies of their home life. Abington Abbey would be much more to them than an increase of opportunities for enjoyment. It would be the warm nest of their love for one another, as no house in a city could be. He was not a particularly demonstrative man, though he had caresses for his children, and would greatly have missed their pretty demonstrations of affection for him; but he loved them dearly, and found no society as pleasant as theirs. There would be a great deal of entertaining at Abington Abbey, but the happiest hours spent there would be those of family life. They lunched in the big hall, with the door wide open, the sun coming in and the stillness of the country and the empty house all about them. Then they made their detailed investigations. It was all just what they wanted--some big rooms and many fascinating small ones. The furniture was the usual mixture to be found in old-established, long-inhabited houses. Some of it was very fine, some of it very ordinary. But there was an air about the whole house that could not have been created by new furnishing, however carefully it might be done. Caroline saw it. "I think we'd better leave it alone as much as possible," she said. "We can get what we want extra for comfort, and add to the good things here and there. We don't want to make it look new, do we?" "Just as you like, darling," said her father. "It's your show. We can string it up a bit where it's shabby, and make it comfortable and convenient. Otherwise it will do all right. I don't want it too smart. We're going to be country people here, not Londoners in the country."