At the depot in Pleasanton, Aunt Isabel alone met her; Uncle Charlie was “indisposed.” Missy was sorry to hear that. For she had liked Uncle Charlie even before he had become Romantic. He was big and silent like father and grandpa and you had a feeling that, like them, he understood you more than did most grown-ups.
She liked Aunt Isabel, too; she couldn't have helped that, because Aunt Isabel was so radiantly beautiful. Missy loved all beautiful things. She loved the heavenly colour of sunlight through the stained-glass windows at church; the unquenchable blaze of her nasturtium bed under a blanket of grey mist; the corner street-lamp reflecting on the wet sidewalk; the smell of clean, sweet linen sheets; the sound of the brass band practicing at night, blaring but unspeakably sad through the distance; the divine mystery of faint-tinted rainbows; trees in moonlight turned into great drifts of fairy-white blossoms.
And she loved shining ripples of golden hair; and great blue eyes that laughed in a sidewise glance and then turned softly pensive in a second; and a sweet high voice now vivacious and now falling into hushed cadences; and delicate white hands always restlessly fluttering; and, a drifting, elusive fragrance, as of wind-swept petals...
All of which meant that she loved Aunt Isabel very much; especially in the frilly, pastel-flowered organdy she was wearing to-day--an “extravagant” dress, doubtless, but lovely enough to justify that. Naturally such a person as Aunt Isabel would make her home a beautiful place. It was a “bungalow.” Missy had often regretted that her own home had been built before the vogue of the bungalow. And now, when she beheld Aunt Isabel's enchanting house, the solid, substantial furnishings left behind in Cherryvale lost all their savour for her, even the old-fashioned “quaintness” of grandma's house.
For Aunt Isabel's house was what Pleasanton termed “artistic.” It had white-painted woodwork, and built-in bookshelves instead of ordinary bookcases, and lots of window-seats, and chintz draperies which trailed flowers or birds or peacocks, which were like a combination of both, and big wicker chairs with deep cushions--all very bright and cosy and beautiful. In the living-room were some Chinese embroideries which Missy liked, especially when the sun came in and shone upon their soft, rich colours; she had never before seen Chinese embroideries and, thus, encountered a brand-new love. Then Aunt Isabel was the kind of woman who keeps big bowls of fresh flowers sitting around in all the rooms, even if there's no party--a delightful habit. Missy was going to adore watching Aunt Isabel's pretty, restless hands flutter about as, each morning, she arranged the fresh flowers in their bowls.