Our little home began at last to really reflect something of the artistic taste on which I pride myself. There remained at length only the flat silver and a few thousand dollars' worth of solid silver receptacles for which we had now paid four hundred dollars storage. But these remained, secure, fixed beyond the assaults of the imagination.
One morning at the breakfast table I laid down my cup with a crash.
Clara gave an exclamation of alarm.
"George dear, what is it?"
For all reply I seized a handful of the Pond Lily pattern silver and gazed at it with a savage joy.
"George, George, what has happened?"
"My dear, I have an idea—a wonderful idea."
"What idea?"
"We will spend the summer in Lone Tree, New Jersey."
Clara screamed.