aughter. "Still, I don't know that I
LIKE your being out so late, Katharine," she continued. "You took a cab,
I hope?"

Here dinner was announced, and Mr. Hilbery formally led his wife
downstairs on his arm. They were all dressed for dinner, and, indeed,
the prettiness of the dinner-table merited that compliment. There was
no cloth upon the table, and the china made regular circles of deep blue
upon the shining brown wood. In the middle there was a bowl of tawny
red and yellow chrysanthemums, and one of pure white, so fresh that the
narrow petals were curved backwards into a firm white ball. From the
surrounding walls the heads of three famous Victorian writers surveyed
this entertainment, and slips of paper pasted beneath them testified
in the great man's own handwriting that he was yours sincerely or
affectionately or for ever. The father and daughter would have been
quite content, apparently, to eat their dinner in silence, or with a few
cryptic remarks expressed in a shorthand which could not be understood
by the servants. But silence depressed Mrs. Hilbery, and far from
minding the presence of maids, she would often address herself to them,
and was never altogether unconscious of their approval or disapproval of
her remarks. In the first place she called them to witness that the room
was darker than usual, and had all the lights turned on.

"That's more cheerful," she exclaimed. "D'you know, Katharine, that
ridiculous goose came to tea with me? Oh, how I wanted you! He tried to
make epigrams all the time, and I got so nervous, expecting them, you
know, that I spilt the tea--and he made an epigram about that!"

"Which ridiculous goose?" Katharine asked her father.

"Only one of my geese, happily, makes epigrams--Augustus Pelham, of
course," said Mrs. Hilbery.

"I'm not sorry that I was out," said Katharine.

"Poor Augustus!" Mrs. Hilbery exclaimed. "But we're all too hard on him.
Remember how devoted he is to his tiresome old mother."

"That's only because she is his mother. Any one connected with
himself--"

"No, no, Katharine--that's too bad. That's--what's the word I mean,
Trevor, something long and Latin--the sort of word you and Katharine
know--"

Mr. Hilbery suggested "cynical."

"Well, that'll do. I don't believe in sending girls to college, but I
should teach them that sort of thing. It makes one feel so dignified,
bringing out these little allusions, and passing on gracefully to the
next topic.