It was a precious experience. Such wise planning it involved! Such ardent scanning of advertisements, such sweet toil of shopping, such rich rewards in midsummer bargains! They did not appreciate the magnitude of their needs till an out-of-the-way store, which fashion never patronized, put them concretely before their eyes in a window display. In successive show-windows, each as large as any of their rooms at the Lorna Doone, this enterprising firm had deployed a whole furnished flat. Furthermore, they had peopled it. In the parlor, which one saw first, a waxen lady in a yellow tea-gown sat embroidering by the gas-log, while over against her lounged a waxen gentleman in velvet smoking-jacket and slippers--a most inviting domestic picture, even though its atmosphere was somewhat cluttered with price-marks. "That's you and me," said Paul, tenderly ungrammatical. Jean was less romantically preoccupied. "I'd quite forgotten curtains," she mused. "They'll take a pretty penny." Thereupon the dentist discovered things which he had overlooked. "We must have a bookcase," he said. "That combination case and desk certainly looks swell. What say to one like it?" "Have you any books?" "I should smile. I've got together the best little dental library you can buy." "Then you'll keep it at your office," decided Jean, promptly. "When we have a library about something besides teeth, we'll think about a case." The shopkeeper's imaginative realism extended also to the other rooms. Real fruit adorned the dining-room buffet; the neat kitchen was tenanted by a maid in uniform, whom they dubbed "Marie" and agreed that they could do without; while in one of the bedrooms they came upon a crib whose occupant they studiously refrained to classify. "But for kitchenware," said Paul, abruptly, "the five-and-ten-cent stores have this place beaten to a pulp."