“I don’t think he will bother himself very much about wall-papers,” said Godfrey, with a laugh. “He declares that he is so tired of travelling that the quiet of an English country house will brace him up again.” “I have no doubt it will,” said the old lady: “I remember when your father took me to Paris for our honeymoon, the mere sound of the French language gave me a headache. I never hear it now without thinking of that time. And now tell me about Molly. Did she enjoy the play you took her to see?” “Immensely,” he replied. “She sent her love to you, and bade me tell you that she would be very pleased to come over to meet Fensden on Saturday. I only hope that she won’t be knocked up by all this shopping.” His mother shook her head. “I don’t think you need have any fear on that score,” she said. “When a girl is about to be married to the man of her heart, the collection of her _trousseau_ becomes a labour of love. She will make a beautiful bride, worthy of my boy. I can’t say more than that.” “You shouldn’t say so much,” said Godfrey. “If your boy were to believe all the compliments you pay him, he would become insufferably conceited. And now I must go round and see how things have been progressing in my absence.” The following morning witnessed Molly’s arrival at the Hall. It was the first time she had stayed there since her engagement, and in consequence she was received with rapturous delight by her lover. Though they had only been parted for a day, they seemed to have a hundred things to tell each other. There were, moreover, certain important matters to be discussed connected with the internal arrangements of the house of which she was so soon to be mistress. I believe, so infatuated was the young man that, had she expressed a desire to have the whole fabric pulled down, and rebuilt in another fashion, he would have set about the work at once. “You are quite sure there is nothing else you would like to have done?” he asked, when they had made the tour of inspection, and were approaching to the drawing-room once more. “You have done too much already,” she replied, looking affectionately at her lover. “I very much doubt if ever there was a girl so spoilt as I. You will have to make up for it by ruling me with a rod of iron afterward.” “God forbid that I should ever do that,” he said seriously. “I hope I shall always be an indulgent husband to you.” “Not too indulgent,” she said. “For my own sake, you must not be. I don’t want to be like a spoilt child.” “You will never be that,” he said. “To me you will always be the most----” “Hush!” she said, holding up her finger in warning. “I think we must make it a rule to avoid every sort of compliment. I have had more than is good for me already.” “I shall find it difficult to obey you, but I will try,” he returned. “And now come with me to the studio; I have one thing left to show you.” “What is that?”