s adjourned to the morning-room, where Lady
Darcy sat waiting; but almost as soon as they had exchanged greetings,
the gong sounded to announce luncheon, and they walked across the hall
aglow with expectation.

The table looked exquisite, and the guests stood still in the doorway
and gasped with admiration. The weather outside was grey and murky, but
tall standard lamps were placed here and there, and the light which
streamed from beneath the pink silk shades gave an air of warmth and
comfort to the room. Down the centre of the table lay a slip of
looking-glass, on which graceful long-necked swans seemed to float to
and fro, while troughs filled with soft pink blossoms formed a
bordering. Garlands of pink flowers fell from the chandelier and were
attached to the silver candelabra, in which pink candles burned with
clear and steady flare. Glass, china, ornaments, were all of the same
dainty colour, and beside each plate was a dainty little buttonhole
nosegay, with a coral-headed pin, all ready to be attached to the dress
or coat of the owner.

"It's--it's beautiful!" cried Mellicent ecstatically; while Peggy's
beauty-loving eye turned from one detail to another with delighted
approbation. "Really," she said to herself in astonishment, "I couldn't
have done it better myself! It's quite admirable!" and as Rosalind's
face peered inquiringly at her beneath the canopy of flowers, she nodded
her head, and smiled generous approval.

"Beautiful! Charming! I congratulate you! Did you design it and
arrange everything yourself?"

"Mother and I made it up between us. We didn't do the actual work, but
we told the servants what to do, and saw that it was all right. The
flowers and bonbons are easy enough to manage; it's the things to eat
that are the greatest trouble."

"It seems to be too horribly prosaic to eat anything at such a table,
except crumpled rose-leaves, like the princess in the fairy tale," said
Peggy gushingly; but at this Mellicent gave an exclamation of dismay,
and the three big lads turned their eyes simultaneously towards the soup
tureen, as if anxious to assure themselves that they were not to be put
off with such ethereal rations.

The soup was pink. "Tomato!" murmured Peggy to herself, as she raised
the first creamy spoonful to her lips. The fish was covered with thick
pink sauce; tiny little cutlets lurked behind ruffles of pink paper;
pink baskets held chicken souffles; moulds of pink cream