June sunshine streamed in through the open windows in an avalanche of golden light and lay in bright parallelograms on the floor. Jeannette was making the bed. She was in the gayest of spirits and sang as she punched the pillows to rid them of lumpiness, and smoothed them flat. She spread the brilliant cretonne cover, with its gaudy design of pheasants, over the bed, turned it neatly back two feet from the head-board, laid the pillows in place, and folded the cretonne over them, tucking it in gently at the top. The bed-cover was not as long as it should have been, and it required nice adjustment to make it lap over the pillows. It was the Wanamaker man’s fault, Jeannette always thought, when she reached this point in her morning’s housework; she had told him with the utmost pains how she wished the cretonne to go, and it was his mistake that it was not long enough. Short as it was, it could be made to reach by allowing only a scant inch or two at the bottom. She had put the same material at the windows in narrow strips of outside curtaining, and there was a gathered valance across the top. The bedroom was “sweet,”--charming and beautifully appointed like the rest of her domain. Her mother and Alice had “raved” about everything. Martin liked it, too, though his wife wished he could find the same amount of pleasure in their little home that she did. Martin was like most men: he did not notice things, never commented upon her ideas and clever arrangements.
To her the apartment was perfection. It was situated in a building that had just been erected in the West Eighties, halfway between Broadway and the Drive. It had five rooms and the rent was fifty dollars a month, more perhaps than they ought to be paying, but Martin had argued that ten dollars one way or another did not make any particular difference and if it suited Jeannette, he was for signing the lease. So he had put his name to the formidable-looking legal document, and the young Devlins had agreed to pay the big rent and to live there for a year. They could remain in it for life, Jeannette declared, as far as she was concerned; she could not imagine ever wanting a more beautiful or a more satisfactory home.