The young lady staying with us.  I never saw a man do it, unless he was burned out of his rookery.

Herbert.  There is no comfort in new things.

The fire-tender (not noticing the interruption).  Having set her mind on a total revolution of the house, she buys one new thing, not too obtrusive, nor much out of harmony with the old.  The husband scarcely notices it, least of all does he suspect the revolution, which she already has accomplished.  Next, some article that does look a little shabby beside the new piece of furniture is sent to the garret, and its place is supplied by something that will match in color and effect.  Even the man can see that it ought to match, and so the process goes on, it may be for years, it may be forever, until nothing of the old is left, and the house is transformed as it was predetermined in the woman’s mind.  I doubt if the man ever understands how or when it was done; his wife certainly never says anything about the refurnishing, but quietly goes on to new conquests.

The mistress.  And is n’t it better to buy little by little, enjoying every new object as you get it, and assimilating each article to your household life, and making the home a harmonious expression of your own taste, rather than to order things in sets, and turn your house, for the time being, into a furniture ware-room?

The fire-tender.  Oh, I only spoke of the ingenuity of it.

The young lady.  For my part, I never can get acquainted with more than one piece of furniture at a time.

Herbert.  I suppose women are our superiors in artistic taste, and I fancy that I can tell whether a house is furnished by a woman or a man; of course, I mean the few houses that appear to be the result of individual taste and refinement,—­most of them look as if they had been furnished on contract by the upholsterer.

The mistress.  Woman’s province in this world is putting things to rights.

Herbert.  With a vengeance, sometimes.  In the study, for example.  My chief objection to woman is that she has no respect for the newspaper, or the printed page, as such.  She is Siva, the destroyer.  I have noticed that a great part of a married man’s time at home is spent in trying to find the things he has put on his study-table.

The young lady.  Herbert speaks with the bitterness of a bachelor shut out of paradise.  It is my experience that if women did not destroy the rubbish that men bring into the house, it would become uninhabitable, and need to be burned down every five years.