The Quicksands of Pactolus, Parts X-XI [pp. 513-529]

THE QUICKSANDS OF PACTOLUS.
for her, to be sold of course, and he was
willing that it should be so. He knew,
further, that half a dozen tender, cordial
phrases would bring the two women to gether, but prejudice linked to vanity
withheld them. The time came when
he bitterly regretted this lost opportunity.
None the less, kindly feelings were stir ring his heart as he marked the refined,
sensitive features that always, in sick ness or in health, lighted up at his ap proach, and presently the warmer senti ments found audible expression.
"Was it your wish," he asked ab ruptly, "that Phyllis Murray should
come to the ball?"
"I should like to invite her, Rufus,
but-" (Woman like she was consider ing whether it would be politic to thtrow
the young people together.)
"But you would consider me, eh?
Well, I gave Master Dick a lesson, and
he took it like a gentleman. I can afford
to be generous. Ask the girl here, to
stay for the night, I mean, and see that
she has a proper dress."
"0, Rufus! How good of you."
"Rubbish! Let's go down. And,
Alice, remember that you can do as you
please with the diamonds. And if - if
you need money, ask me for it. I'm no
niggard, the Lord knows. What I have
is yours!"
Half a dozen persons, besides the Barringtons, were seated round the dining
room table. Count Van der Bock and
his wife, Mrs. Paul Travers and her
daughter, Desmond and John Chetwynd.
The table was remarkable. By means
of cunning mechanism and innumerable
pieces of wood it could be made to expand
or contract at the will of the worthy
Mosher and still remain a perfect circle.
Mr. Barrington had seen a similar table
in the private dining room at Windsor
Castle, and had ordered from a London
firm an exact copy to be executed out of
old Honduras mahogany. Upon the cloth were masses of violets of every
shade and maiden-hair ferns, and through
these gleamed fairy lamps (at that time
fashionable). In the center, its roots in
an unsightly pot beneath the table, was;
a stately date palm whose fronds soar-d&
ceilingward, and then drooped in enchant ing curves. There were no candelabras
The light was derived from about sixty
wax candles in antique Venetian sconces
on the walls. The room was octagonal,
and very lofty, with a domed ceiling
painted after Verrio. Its sides were
hung with modern tapestry, light in tone,
and the furniture was rococo, but neither
fantastic nor unduly florid. The general
effect was soft, harmonious, and pecul iarly festive. A superbly painted screen
stood in front of the doors leading to the
servants' offices, and behind this Mosher
and his well-drilled staff performed their
noiseless labors. The room was worthy
of Lucullus, and John Chetwynd, who
had dined in halls the palaces of Europe,
told himself that he had seen nothing to
surpass it.
Mrs. Barrington was celebrated for her
dinners. Her chef was a cordon bleu, and
her wines above reproach. San Francisco has been justly criticized in regard
to the wine it drinks. In certain houses
champagne flows like water, but it is
generally new. The old, mellow vintages seldom cross the Rockies. First
class clarets are also rare -the Lafites,
the Latours, and the Margaux;- and the
odious and indefensible French custom
prevails of serving during the course of
a four hour dinner innumerable wines.
Rufus Barrington, with that sterling
common sense that characterized him,
set his own fashions. Dinners, in his
house, formal or informal, never exceeded
one hour and a quarter, and his chain
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