"So do I."
"Our dining-room is distinctly Grand Rapids."
"Now, George!"
"It is."
"Well, it was your Aunt Susan."
"It was, but who suggested it? I pass over the bedrooms. I will simply say that they are nightmares. Expensive nightmares! I come to the lamps—how many have we?"
"Fourteen."
"Fourteen atrocities, imitation Louis Seize, bogus Oriental, feathered, laced and tasseled. So much for useful presents. Now for decoration. We have three Sistine Madonnas (my particular abomination). Two, thank heaven, we can inflict on the next victims, one we have got to live with and why?—so that each of our three intimate friends will believe it his own. We have water colors and etchings which we don't want, and a photograph copy of every picture that every one sees in every one's house. Some original friend has even sent us a life-size, marble reproduction of the Venus de Milo. These things will be our artistic home. Then there are vases—"
"Now you are losing your temper."
"On the contrary, I'm reserving it. I shan't characterize the bric-à-brac, that was to be expected."