"Excuse me—certainly: yes, that is, I think I do. We don't use them very often. Do you mean tallow or wax?"
"Wax, of course! They have such elegant decorations on them. I had a most exquisite sconce Christmas, with two of the loveliest tapers completely covered with Moorish arabesques in crimson and old gold."
"What becomes of the decorations when the tapers burn up?"
"Well, we don't burn them much. Indeed, I don't think we ought to use artificial light at all. The mysterious light of the moon and stars is so much more enchanting. Don't you love to muse and dream in the fading twilight?"
"No, not very well. The trouble is if I get to sleep before I go to bed I don't sleep as well afterward."
"Oh, I don't mean actual dreams, but vague, dreamy musings, esthetic aspirations and longings. Do you never long for abstract beauty?"
"Well, no, not long. If I can't get what I want pretty quick I generally go for something else."
This irrelevant conversation was vastly entertaining to Jack, who, knowing how unlike were the dispositions of his brother and his wife's cousin, had contrived their meeting with special reference to his own amusement. When the clock told the hour for retiring he brought Bessie a tin candlestick, in which a tallow candle smoked and spluttered in a feeble way, but filled the soul of the young lady with admiration, it was so "full of feeling."
"Life is so much richer when our environment is illuminated and glorified—"
"By tapers," said Jack as he bade her an affectionate good-night.