The only calm person in the house was the ex-widow. With the eyes
of a major-general sweeping the field on the eve of an important
battle, she had taken in the disposition of the furniture, the
hang of the curtains and the placing of the cushions and lesser
comforts. She had also arranged with her own hands the masses of
narcissus and jonquils on the mantels, and had selected the exact
shade of yellow tulips which centred the dining-room table. It was
to be a "Gold-Mine Dinner," so Arthur had told her, "and
everything must be in harmony."
Then seeing Parkins, who had entered unexpectedly and caught her
in the act (it is bad form for a hostess to arrange flowers in
some houses--the butler does that), she asked in an indifferent
tone: "And how many are we to have for dinner, Parkins?" She knew,
of course, having spent an hour over a diagram placing the guests.
"Fourteen, my lady."
"Fourteen!--really, quite a small affair." And with the air of one
accustomed all her life to banquets in palaces of state, she swept
out of the room.
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