| Author: | Fred M. White | ISBN: | 9783748130451 |
| Publisher: | Books on Demand | Publication: | October 9, 2018 |
| Imprint: | Language: | English |
| Author: | Fred M. White |
| ISBN: | 9783748130451 |
| Publisher: | Books on Demand |
| Publication: | October 9, 2018 |
| Imprint: | |
| Language: | English |
A pool of light cast by the shaded lamps on the dinner table picked out the points of old silver and the ruby lakes in the cut-glass decanters. A pile of filberts stood up russet warm against gleaming mahogany. The cloth had been drawn, as was the post-prandial custom at Broadwater. Narcissus might have lingered lovingly over that polished, flawless board. Lancelot Massey put his claret down somewhat hastily, and Sir George sighed. The thought of a scratch on that mahogany poisoned his after-dinner cigarette. "My dear boy," Sir George said, plaintively, "it cannot, must not be. Excuse me; your glass seemed to grate somewhat. I hope you haven't-" Lance hastened to assure his uncle and his host that no damage had been done. The thin, handsome, white face opposite relaxed into a smile. Sir George looked upon himself more as the curator of a priceless gallery of art than the master of Broadwater. The big oak-panelled dining-room might have been looted for the Wallace collection, with advantage to the latter. Five generations of Masseys had been collectors.
A pool of light cast by the shaded lamps on the dinner table picked out the points of old silver and the ruby lakes in the cut-glass decanters. A pile of filberts stood up russet warm against gleaming mahogany. The cloth had been drawn, as was the post-prandial custom at Broadwater. Narcissus might have lingered lovingly over that polished, flawless board. Lancelot Massey put his claret down somewhat hastily, and Sir George sighed. The thought of a scratch on that mahogany poisoned his after-dinner cigarette. "My dear boy," Sir George said, plaintively, "it cannot, must not be. Excuse me; your glass seemed to grate somewhat. I hope you haven't-" Lance hastened to assure his uncle and his host that no damage had been done. The thin, handsome, white face opposite relaxed into a smile. Sir George looked upon himself more as the curator of a priceless gallery of art than the master of Broadwater. The big oak-panelled dining-room might have been looted for the Wallace collection, with advantage to the latter. Five generations of Masseys had been collectors.
