With this, then, as a working model, to which Paul was ever returning for inspiration, they made their purchases. It was, of course, his money in the main which they expended, but Jean also drew generously on her small hoard. They vied with each other in planning little surprises. Now the dentist would open some drawer and chance upon a kit of tools for the household carpentering, in which his mechanical genius reveled; or Jean would find her kitchen the richer for some new-fangled ice-cream freezer, coffee-machine, or dish-washer which, in Paul's unvarying phrase, "practically ran itself." They derived infinite amusement also from the placing and replacing of their belongings--a far knottier problem than any one save the initiate may conceive, since the wall spaces of flats, as all flat-dwellers know, are ingeniously designed to fit nothing which the upholsterer and the cabinet-maker produce. Luckily they discovered this profound law early in their buying, though not before Paul, adventuring alone among the "antique" shops of Fourth Avenue, fell victim to an irresistible bargain in the shape of a colonial sideboard which, joining forces with an equally ponderous bargain of a table, blockaded their little dining room almost to the exclusion of chairs. Half the zest of all this lay in its secrecy; for although the boarding-house suspected a love affair,--and broadly hinted its suspicions,--it innocently supposed their frequent evenings out were spent at the theaters. Quite another theory prevailed at the Lorna Doone, however, as Jean learned to her dismay one Sunday when she was addressed as "Mrs. Bartlett" by the portly owner, whom they passed in the entrance hall. "Oh, they've all along taken it for granted we're married," said Paul, carelessly. "I thought it was too good a joke to spoil." Jean did not see its humor. "We must explain," she said. "And be grinned at for a bride and groom! What's the use? It will be true enough two weeks from now." She privily decided that she would undeceive the owner at the first opportunity, but the chance to speak had not presented itself when far graver happenings brushed it from her thoughts as utterly as if it had never been. XVII Amy had, in fairness, to be told as August waned. To Jean's suggestion that very likely either the stenographer or the manicure would be glad to share the room of the three dormers, she replied that she could easily afford to keep it on by herself while she remained. "It won't be for long," she vouchsafed airily. "In fact, I'm going to be married myself." Jean's arms went round her instantly, the restraint of months forgotten. "And you've never breathed a word!" she reproached. "No more have you," retorted Amy, glacial under endearments. "I know, I know. But you have seemed so different. You have kept to yourself, and I thought--"