Mr. Buckingham looks and feels at home ensconced in a deep, softly padded chair, near the blazing grate, in the restful library; he is soon lost in the Iron Age.
On Miss O'Sullivan, a sweet-faced, blue-eyed girl, entering, looking bright as the morning in her pretty red woollen frock, the occupant, with the innate courtesy of his countrymen, laying aside his newspaper, adapted himself to her girlish chit-chat in a manner that charmed her, until the entrance of Mrs. Gower, in a very becoming gown of brown silk, with old gold plush trimming, ecru lace chemisette, and elbow sleeves—for she dressed for all day, and any friends who may come to wish her a glad New Year; she first goes to the kitchen to see that the machinery is actively in motion, as she had set it before going to the polls; one servant maid, with the boy, Thomas, being sufficient for the requirements of her cosy little home.
"Well, you both do look comfortable," she said, entering the library.
"Yes; I think we do," said Miss O'Sullivan.
"We only want you to want nothing more," he said, in pleased tones, placing a rattan chair, with its dark green velvet cushioned back and seat, and turning the fire screen to protect her face.
"Not yet, thanks; my poor palms have had no water to-day. How do you think my plants are looking, Mr. Buckingham?"
"Very fine; but if you kept them more moist they would do still better; but most amateur gardeners make a like mistake," he said, cutting some bits of scarlet geranium; "this bit of color will make your costume perfect."
"The costume! but what about the woman?"
"Oh, the woman knows right well," he said, leading her to the mirror.
"Give me the good taste of an American gentleman, in preference to a mirror, which is frequently untrue."