A faint, united breath of approbation rose from the visitors as they stepped into a room of noble proportions. It was almost square and as beautiful an apartment as the girls had ever seen. Beam ceiling, wainscoting and floor were all of precisely the same shade and quality of dark oak. So perfectly did every foot of wood in the room match that it might have all come from one giant tree, hewn out and polished by gnomes. There was something about its perfection that suggested a castle hall of fairy lore. On each side of the room were three high-backed, massive oak benches. The tops of these were decorated by a carved oak leaf pattern, the simplicity of which was the design of genius itself. The heavy, claw-legged oak tables, oval in shape and ten in number, all bore the same pattern, carved in the table top at about two inches from the edge. There was no attempt at placing the tables in rows. They stood at intervals far enough apart to permit easy passage in and out among them. Yet each table seemed fitted into its own proper space. Moved two inches out of it, the whole scheme of artistic regularity would have been spoiled.
“It’s evident that Signor Baretti never furnished this room,” commented Ronny in a voice just above a whisper. “I never saw anything like it, before! never! Lead me to a seat at one of those beautiful tables.”
“Yes; do let us sit down as soon as we can,” echoed Muriel eagerly. “I am dying to look and look and look at everything in this adorable old room. I am glad it is almost empty. We can sit and stare and no one will be here to resent it.”
This time it was Muriel who took the lead and made a bee-line for a table at the far end of the room on the right. The others followed her, quickly slipping into the oak chairs, each with its spade-shaped, high back and fairly broad seat. That these chairs were built for comfort as well as ornament the Lookouts soon discovered.
“Oh, the joy of this comfy chair,” sighed Ronny. “It actually fits my back. That’s more than I can say of those train seats. I am going to turn in the minute I am back at Wayland House. I am so tired, and a little bit sleepy.”
Marjorie and Ronny shared one menu, while each of the others had one to herself. After the usual amount of comment and consultation, all decided upon consommé, roast chicken, potatoes au gratin, and a salad, with dessert and coffee to follow. Their order given to a round-faced, olive-tinted Italian girl, the Five Travelers were free to look about them for a little.
Directly across from them at a table which formed a wide obtuse angle with theirs were four girls. While the quartette had appeared to be occupied in eating ices on the entrance into the restaurant of the Sanford party, no move of the strangers had been lost on them. Four pairs of young eyes covertly appraised the newcomers. That the Five Travelers interested the other girls was clearly proven by the frequency of their glances, discreetly veiled. Deep in the exploration of the menu, the Sanford quintette were unaware that they had attracted any special attention from the diners at the one other occupied table in the room. Nevertheless, while they were busy with the ordering of their dinner, they were being subjected to a most critical survey.
By the time the consommé was served, the other group had finished the eating of their ices and risen to depart. As they left the table Marjorie glanced impersonally toward them. A sudden wave of color deepened the pink in her cheeks as she encountered four pairs of unfamiliar eyes all fastened on her. Immediately she looked away, annoyed with herself, rather than them for staring. Nor had she gained a definite idea of the appearance of any one of them, so keen was her own momentary discomfiture.
Regarding herself and her chums, the departing diners had a very clear idea. Hardly had they stepped outside the restaurant when a low buzz of conversation began.
“Leila Harper, did you ever see anyone lovelier than that brown-eyed freshie?” inquired one of the quartette, a tall, stately girl with pale gold hair and a rather thin, interesting face. “The one in dark blue, I mean.”