background of the paper, or a trifle darker, this being also the general ‘tone’ of the carpet, it is easy to see how the coloring of the room would have been simple and pleasing, instead of glaring and ugly.  Yes, your plea for paint is not without value.  I think, however, it would be entirely possible to stain the unpainted wood to produce any desired symphony, fugue or discord.  It might be unnatural, especially if we wished to look blue, but it would not conceal the marking and shading of the grain of the wood which is so much prettier than any moulding or carving, and vastly easier to keep in order.  Your economical arguments are always worth considering.  I think the happy compromise for us will be to use hard wood in the first story and painted pine in the chambers, with various combinations and exceptions.  The bath-rooms, halls and dressing-rooms of the second story should of course be without paint, and we may relieve the solid monotony of the hardwood finish with occasional fillets or bands of color, painted panels or any other irregularities we choose to invent.  But this is invading the mighty and troublous realm of ‘interior decoration,’ from which I had resolved to keep at a respectful distance until the house is at least definitely planned in all its details.”

[Illustration:  A CHOICE OF WAINSCOTS.]

A wise decision, for although what we call in a general way “interior decoration” is closely allied to essential construction—­not infrequently seems to be a part of it—­there is still a sharp though often unseen line between them that cannot be crossed with impunity.  Artistic construction is at best only second cousin to decoration, and while we may in building arrange to accommodate a certain style of furniture or ornament, as Bessie’s friend built her parlor to suit the rug, the result of such contriving is apt to be discouraging if not disastrous.

“Two things we must surely have,” said Jill, “which the architect has not sent; one, an old fashion, the other, a new one.  We must have ‘chair rails,’ in every room down stairs that has not a solid wainscot, if I have to make the plans and put them up myself.  We must also have another band of wood higher up entirely around every room in both stories, to which the pictures can be hung.”

“Perhaps the architect will object to this as interfering with his plans.”

“He cannot, for they belong to our side of the house; they are matters of use, not of design.  He may put them where he pleases, within reasonable limits, and make them of any pattern, with due regard to cost.  He may treat one as part of the dado, the other as a member of the cornice, if he chooses, but we must have them—­they are indispensable.”

“They are also dangerous, because they are fashionable.”

“Yes, an illustration of the temporary agreement of fashion and common sense.  But things of real worth do not go out of fashion; fashion goes out of them; henceforth they live by their own merit and no one questions their right to be.”