It was the dining-room, and seemed dazzling to Sara, with its
rich tones in wall and rug, its buffet a-glitter with glass and silver,
and its green garlanded windows; but her native instincts were nice, so
it was only in her eyes that this astonished admiration found
expression.
Mrs. Macon made a careless gesture towards the table, which was partly
laid.
"Sit down, my dear," she said, "and we will have a bit of a supper
together; Mr. Macon has gone into the city, and won't be back until a
very late dinner. How do you take your tea, please?"
It was a delectable little spread, nearly all the dishes being novelties
to Sara, even the familiar lobster being scarcely recognizable in its
Frenchy dress; but she felt the refinement and delicacy of it all, as an
infant feels the softness of velvet, not comprehending, only enjoying.
In speaking of it afterwards to the children she remarked,--
"I can't tell you what it was, for I have eaten meals I really relished
better; but it was there, and I have never experienced it anywhere else,
not even at Miss Prue's. It seemed as if I were in a palace, with soft
music and sweet odors about me; yet there was no music, and the only
fragrance was from the tea. No, I can't tell what it was; but sometime--
_some_time, Molly, I hope you will feel it too!"
"Well, if it's going to make me feel solemn and creepy I don't want to,"
said that young damsel with decision.
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