"I should be most grateful."
"I want to see the table myself."
Alice tossed her head. "This way then."
At the threshold of the dining-room, Kimberly paused. The table was dressed in yellow with the lowest tones in the fruits of the centrepiece. The pears were russet, the grapes purple, and pomegranates, apples, and golden plums supplied the tints of autumn. The handles of the old silver basket were tied with knots of broad, yellow ribbon. Alice, touching the covers here and there, passed behind the chairs.
"You get your effects very simply," observed Kimberly. "Only people with a sure touch can do that."
"I thought there were to be no more compliments."
He looked at the sconces. "Just one for the lighting. Even Dolly and Imogene sin in that way. They overdo it or underdo it, and Mrs. Nelson is impossible. Where have you put me?"
She pointed with her fan. "Next to Mrs. Nelson."
"Next to Mrs. Nelson?" he echoed in surprise.
"Why not?"