"And now about the china," said Mr. Woolfield. "It is in a closet near the pantry—that is to say, the best china. I will get a benzoline lamp, and we will examine it. We had it out only when Mrs. Woolfield had a party of her elect brothers and sisters. I fear a good deal is broken. I know that the soup tureen has lost a lid, and I believe we are short of vegetable dishes. How many plates remain I do not know. We had a parlourmaid, Dorcas, who was a sad smasher, but as she was one who had made her election sure, my late wife would not part with her."
"And how are you off for glass?"
"The wine-glasses are fairly complete. I fancy the cut-glass decanters are in a bad way. My late wife chipped them, I really believe out of spite."
It took the couple some time to go through the china and the glass.
"And the plate?" asked Philippa.
"Oh, that is right. All the real old silver is at the bank, as Kesiah preferred plated goods."
"How about the kitchen utensils?"
"Upon my word I cannot say. We had a rather nice-looking cook, and so my late wife never allowed me to step inside the kitchen."
"Is she here still?" inquired Philippa sharply.
"No; my wife, when she was dying, gave her the sack."