She displayed it, making a pirouette. She might have been an ingénue gowned for her first ball, an artless nymph of seventeen. No nymph, however, of tender years could have thought out her next sentence—
“I wanted my frock to be worthy of this lovely room.”
“By George! it is.”
“Very many thanks. Is that a Reisener cabinet?”
“I don’t know. It’s French, I believe.”
“Oh, dear! Oh, dear! And you don’t know?”
Her sprightliness infected him.
“Perhaps, like my mother, I prefer persons to things.”
“Thanks again. But, frankly, I’m amazed. This room is full of beautiful furniture—all of different periods, too. But that doesn’t matter. Really good bits, if they have age to them, never bark at each other. Those pastels are adorable.”
Lionel flushed a little.