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 rection, "in our own home. One that I've paid for with money I made myself; a house that you and I have planned with our own minds, just to express ourselves and: our own ideas for us—and for him."

"Why," chirruped Fay with a little cry of delight, "why—that's a lovely thought, George! Perfectly lovely."

"Let's make a house that isn't Romanesque and isn't Gothic or Georgian or anything but just modern and attractive and comfortable and cheery and cosy," elaborated George. "It couldn't be so big as this, not near, for I haven't got the money to build one—and it couldn't be on as fine a site as this, for I haven't the money for acreage on the Grosse Pointe front. It could be down nearer to the Indian Village, say."

"But when I have so much money, George," she intervened, "when he is to be ours, wouldn't you think it would be fair to let me at least buy the land our house would stand on?"

George paused a moment. He wanted to do it all himself—he really did; but in such a moment and over a project like this he could not be ungenerous. "Why, certainly: that would be fair, Fay—only I'd ask you to make it a modest lot—in a modest location. You see, dear, I figure that about a hundred thousand is all I can spare for house and decorations—decorations, of course, including furnishings—and you