“I’m not so sure,” he said as he sat down, “that the gentleman up there didn’t have something to do with it.”
“Please don’t make too much of him. Everyone pays me the compliment of thinking him Galahad, but I think of him as the naughty Launcelot. I read a book once on old French glass and I just had to have a window. And the organ made this room the logical place for it. Papa calls this my chapel and refuses to sit in it at all. He says it’s too much like church!”
“Ah! But that’s a tribute in itself! Your father realizes that this is a place for worship—without reference to the knight.”
She laid her forefinger against her cheek, tilted her head slightly, mocking him with lips and eyes.
“Let me think! That was a pretty speech, but of course you’re referring to that bronze Buddha over there. Come to think of it, papa does rather fancy him.”
When she smilingly met his gaze he laughed and made a gesture of despair.
“That was a nice bit of side-stepping! I’m properly rebuked. I see my own worshiping must be done with caution. But the room is beautiful. I’m glad to know there’s such a place in town.”
“I did have a good time planning and arranging it. But there’s nothing remarkable about it after all. It’s merely what you might call a refuge from reality—if that means anything.”
“It means a lot—too much for me to grasp all at once.”
“You’re making fun of me! All I meant was that I wanted a place to escape into where I can play at being something I really am not. We all need to do that. After all, it’s just a room.”