"Marked."
"Right again, dear. One dozen bonbon dishes, five nouveau riche sugar shakers (we never use them), three muffineers—in heaven's name, what's that? Solid silver bread dishes, solid silver candlesticks by the dozen, solid silver vegetable dishes, and we expect one servant and an intermittent laundress to do the cooking, washing, make the beds and clean the house besides."
"All marked," said Clara dolefully.
"Every one, my dear. Then the china and the plates, we can't even eat out of the plates we want or drink from the glasses we wish; everything in this house, from top to bottom has been picked out and inflicted upon us against our wants and in defiance of our own taste and we—we have got to go on living with them and trying not to quarrel!"
"You have forgotten the worst of all," said Clara.
"No, my darling, I have not forgotten it. I have thought of nothing else, but I wanted you to mention it."
"The flat silver, George."
"The flat silver, my darling. Twelve dozen, solid silver and teaset to match, bought without consulting us, by your two rich bachelor uncles in collusion. We wanted Queen Anne or Louis Seize, simple, dignified, something to live with and grow fond of, and what did we get?"
"Oh, dear, they might have asked me!"
"But they don't, they never do, that is the theory of wedding presents, my dear. We got Pond Lily pattern, repoussé until it scratches your fingers. Pond Lily pattern, my dear, which I loathe, detest, and abominate!"