It had been a very pleasant evening; the small oval dinner-table,
with its flowers exquisitely arranged, the open windows, with the
dogs lying out on the terrace, were all to Malcolm's taste.
Everything was so well-appointed and so well-managed. The servants
were evidently old retainers, and took a warm interest in their
mistress's guests.
After dinner they had their coffee on the terrace, and watched the
sun setting behind the fir woods, and when the last yellow gleam had
faded away from the sky, at Dinah's suggestion Elizabeth went into
the drawing-room, where two pink-shaded lamps were already lighted,
and seated herself at the piano.
"There is no occasion for us to go in," observed Dinah, who had
noticed Malcolm's evident enjoyment of his cigarette; "we shall hear
her perfectly out here, and Mr. Carlyon will turn over for her."
Such is human nature, for one instant Malcolm felt strongly impelled
to throw away his cigarette and oust Mr. Carlyon from his snug
corner, if only to teach him his place; but indolence prevailed: his
cigarette was too delicious, the air was so refreshing and balmy,
and the pale globes of the evening primroses and the milky whiteness
of the nicotianas gleamed so entrancingly in the soft dusk, that he
felt himself unwilling to move.
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