In the dim-shaded dining-room, where the tall maids flitted noiselessly to and from the hatch at one end, the round table about which the seven of us sat down seemed, with its many candles in the curving arms of Sheffield candlesticks, its gleaming white porcelain, and its winking, patterned array of silver and cut glass, like some great oasis of softly-radiant light. Upon it, as table-centre, there was set the silver-bordered pool of an oval mirror, reflecting a large silver goblet, round which I could read part of the inscription: 1896 FIFTY YARDS SWIM—— SECS. 6—— W. WAT—— that upheld a pyramid of creamy, perfumed blossom, softened with sprays of feathery white. Budding spikes of the same blossom were massed about the pedestals of four little winged Loves, offering baskets that held tiny bouquets of the white sprays, mingled with chocolates wrapped up in silver-foil. Gradually but surely I realized the effect of all this decoration; it was indescribably, unmistakably, blatantly—_bridal_! And then I realized who was responsible for it. That gift of Heaven, Theodora, was beaming upon her handiwork. It must have been her innocent hands, too, that had tied up each table-napkin with a white bow and a spray of buds; had cut silver-paper out of a chocolate-box into the miniature horseshoes that lay strewn negligently but broadcast all over the tablecloth; and had encircled the place where I sat with a wreath of crystallized rose-leaves in the shape of a heart. With one frantic sweep of my hand I brushed these last into the table-napkin on my lap. I must pretend I’d noticed nothing, and then (though I knew that thunder-cloud was deepening every moment on the Governor’s brow) perhaps the others really _wouldn’t_ notice! Vain hope! It was dashed even before the two usually so sedate maids, who seemed, this evening, to emanate some subtle atmosphere of sympathy and giggle, had finished handing round the soup. “Dear me! Who arranged the flowers like this?” murmured Mrs. Waters, with a mildly bewildered glance at this white-and-silver display. “I thought Blanche was going to have just the little crystal tubs with the pink Maman Cochets and some maidenhair fern?” “Yes, Mumsie, I was. But Theo _would_ put white heather and syringa!” “Because—Oh, can’t you see _why?_” broke in the cornet voice of the youngest of the family, who sat between me and the Major. And before anyone could answer or check her, this appalling child went on to give chapter and verse for each of her enormities. “It’s because, you see, syringa’s so awfully like orange-blossoms!—They call it ‘mock orange!’ And I meant it for Billy and Nancy!” She paused for breath (so did everybody else), then she hurried on. “Yes! I did the table, because I wanted it to be appropriate! So I took away those everyday bon-bon dishes and fetched out these little china Cupids to hold the choc’lates instead! _Aren’t_ they ducky?”