Phil imagined his host must have seen other qualities than those named by Lucia, and he seated himself on a sofa to study the picture in detail. Lucia also sat down, and continued:
“There is color in it, to be sure; bits of the columns where the light is most subdued are as lovely as—as a real Turkish rug.”
Much though Phil had endeavored to keep himself in communication and sympathy with the stronger sentiments of the world outside of Haynton, he had never realized even the outer edge of the mysteries and ecstasies of adoration of old rugs. So Lucia’s comparison started him into laughter. The girl seemed surprised and offended, and Phil immediately tumbled into the extreme depths of contrition.
“I beg your pardon,” he murmured, quickly. “It was all because of my ignorance. We haven’t any Turkish rugs at Haynton, nor any other rugs, expect those we lay on floors and use very much as if they were carpets. I ought to have known better, though; for I remember that in Eastern stories, where the rare possessions of Oriental kings and chiefs are spoken of, rugs are always classed with jewels and silks and other beautiful things. Please forgive me.”
Half in earnest, half pretending, Lucia continued to appear offended. Phil repeated his confession, and enlarged his explanation. In his earnestness he leaned toward her; Lucia dropped her head a little. Marge, who had finished his cigar, entered the parlor at that instant, and raised his eyebrows,—a motion more significant in a man of his temperament than a tragic start would have been to ordinary flesh and blood. Lucia started and showed signs of embarrassment when she could no longer ignore his presence; Phil merely looked up, without seeming at all discomposed.
“I think, my dear,” said Tramlay to his wife, who had been turning the backs of a magazine, “that I’ll take our friend around to the club with me for half an hour, just to show him how city men squander their time and keep away from their families. I won’t be long gone.”
“Oh, papa! right after dinner? We’ve scarcely seen Phil yet, to ask him any questions.”
“Plenty of time for that,” the merchant replied. “We’ll see him often: eh, Hayn?”
“I shall be delighted,” said Phil.
“Suppose you drop him at my club, on your way home?” suggested Marge. “I shall be there.”