“It strikes me that the whole thing is a ‘blind.’  What is he driving at?”

“The conclusion of the matter seems to be given in this sentence:  ’You will perceive, therefore, that a decision in regard to blinds should be made even before the house is staked out, since the size of the foundation itself may be affected by it, as well as the minor details.’”

“I’m ready for the question; are you?”

“Yes.  In the bay windows and for the long windows that give access to the balconies and piazzas we will have blinds that roll up out of the way.  A few of the windows on the sunny side will have for summer use outside blinds, a few more will have cloth awnings.  The most of the windows will have no blinds at all, only such shades and curtains as we choose to furnish.  I don’t think the eyes of a house ought to be closed much of the time.  It is certainty absurd to hang blinds at all the windows when we only need them at a few.”

“Oh, but won’t the neighbors rage and imagine vain things when they see a house with here and there a blind and here and there an awning?”

“The wise ones will approve; the foolish ones will demonstrate their folly by criticising what they don’t understand.”

“Very well, that point is settled.  Unless the next is sharp and short you must decide it without my help.  It is high time I was at the office.”

“We will defer them all.  It is time for me to be at my household duties.  You know Cousin Bessie comes this afternoon, and I’ve noticed that extremely intellectual people are sometimes extremely fond of a good dinner.”

“If Bessie is coming I must anoint my beard with oil of sunflowers and trot out my old gold slippers.  Shall I send up some pale lilies for dessert?  And that reminds me—­Jim came home last night and I asked the old fellow to come up to dinner.  How do you suppose Bess found it out?”

“Don’t be spiteful, Jack.  She didn’t find it out at all.  I invited her a week ago.  Now go to the office, please, while I put the house in order.”

During this important process Jill entertained herself by philosophical reflection upon the style of living that requires a house to be constantly “put in order.”  She recalled certain of Uncle Harry’s observations to the effect that in a truly civilized state housekeeping would be so conducted and houses would be so contrived that instead of causing care and labor proverbially endless, housekeepers would no more be burdened by their domestic duties than are the fowls of the air.  Jill had too much of the rare good sense, incorrectly called “common,” to attempt to reduce Uncle Harry’s theories to practice all at once.  She knew that though we may not reach the summit of our ambition, it is well to advance toward it even by a single step, or failing in that, to help prepare a way for some one else.  She understood the wisdom of striving to increase the fraction of life by dividing the denominator, and at the same time cherished the broader hope that her life and her home might be filled with whatever is of most enduring worth.