A second note from Mrs. Van Ostade, received two days later, voiced in the friendliest way her acceptance of things as they were. She wondered whether they had formulated any plans for living? Craig's bachelor quarters, she pointed out, were scarcely adaptable for housekeeping, and surely they would not care for hotel life or furnished apartments? What they did want, she assumed, was an apartment of their own; that is, eventually. But, again, did they at this time of such critical importance in Craig's work, want the exhausting labor of house-hunting? Her suggestion--she was diffident, but oh, not lukewarm, in broaching it--was that for the time being they make the freest use of her much too spacious home. Craig knew how burdensome the East Fifty-third Street place had seemed to her since Mr. Van Ostade's death; he would remember how often she had urged his sharing it. Well, why not now? It need be only temporary, if they wished; merely for the critical present. It could easily be arranged from a financial point of view. When had he and she ever quarreled over money! And the domestic problem was as simple. Wouldn't they consider it? She meant literally _consider_, not decide. They could decide on the spot, for come to her they must on their return. She claimed that of them at least. They should be her guests first; then--but no more of that now. They read the letter shoulder to shoulder; and so, without speaking, sat for a long moment after they reached the end. "Well?" he said at last, with a vain reading of the still face. "Well, Craig?" "Bully of her, isn't it?" She assented. "And practical," he added; "more practical than our air-castles, I dare say." A quick fear caught at her throat. "Could you give them up, Craig?" "Give them up!" he exclaimed. "Give up the air-castles that we've planned while drifting in the bay, roaming the fields, watching the sunset from this dear window? Never! We'll have our own home yet. But it does mean time, as Julie says, and this is a critical period in my affairs. I feel it strongly." "And I." "It would be practical," he said again thoughtfully. "We must admit it, Jean. How Julie seems to set her heart upon it! We owe her some reparation, I suppose. We might--at least, till the portrait is under way? Oh, but you must decide this point." "No," she answered. "Your work must decide. But need we worry over it _now_?" "Indeed, we'll not," he declared. "When we reach town will be soon enough, as Julie says. Come out for a row."