Bartolome Esteban Murillo paintings

A light was shining through the door of the little hall-room which served Janey as a dressing-room and boudoir, and her brother rapped impatiently on the panel. The door opened, and his sister stood before him in her immemorial purple flannel dressing-gown, with her hair ``on pins.'' Her face looked pale and apprehensive.
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``Newland! I hope there's no bad news in that telegram? I waited on purpose, in case -- '' (No item of his correspondence was safe from Janey.)
He took no notice of her question. ``Look here -- what day is Easter this year?''
She looked shocked at such unchristian ignorance. ``Easter? Newland! Why, of course, the first week in April. Why?''
``The first week?'' He turned again to the pages of his diary, calculating rapidly under his breath. ``The first week, did you say?'' He threw back his head with a long laugh.
``For mercy's sake what's the matter?''
``Nothing's the matter, except that I'm going to be married in a month.''
Janey fell upon his neck and pressed him to her purple flannel breast. ``Oh Newland, how wonderful! I'm so glad! But, dearest, why do you keep on laughing? Do hush, or you'll wake Mamma.''