Within a fortnight their rooms were transformed. Mrs. Farquharson
declared she would not have known them herself.
John's old room, dismantled, yielded his bookshelves and his books; his
father's old desk, a Sheraton, and therefore a beauty and joy forever;
and his armchair, which took its place in a corner of the cheery
sitting-room and seemed to say--"Come, sit here, and be comfortable," as
naturally as though it had been established there for years. Certainly
it had this advantage over the other chairs; it was so roomy John and
Phyllis could sit in it together; and often did.
There were photographs of his father as a young man; and of his mother,
a flower-like creature, who had faded like a flower, leaving a fragrant
memory. Phyllis gazed at her picture with wistful eyes; and once, when
John was absent, held it to her lips.
But Phyllis's old valentines gave the rooms their charm. A dozen or
more, framed in dull gold, hung on the walls, their delicate coloring
softened by the passing of many years; their sentiment as fresh and
gentle as of yesterday.