It was so original! Think, Mamma, of a sarcophagus for a drawing-room!
Stone walls and floor, tombstone mantlepieces (mixed Gothic), really
good Persian rugs, and the very most carved, brand new gilt Louis
Philippe suite of furniture, helped out by mammoth armchairs and sofa,
covered in gold brocade. These had the same shape and look for
furniture as the men in the hotel hall had for men, so colossally
stuffed out and large. The Vicomte said, "Dieu! Un salon
d'Hippopotames!" It was a glorious sunny day, but from the hall onwards
all daylight had been excluded, and the drawing-room was a blaze of
electric light, flashing from countless gilt branches; while the guests
to meet us were drawn up on the hearth rug, the women in full
restaurant evening dress, a little decollete, and hats, and glittering
with jewels.
Octavia and I felt miserably cheap creatures. Mr. Craik V. Purdy,
simply gorgeous about waistcoat and watchchain, presented us to his
wife, a short, red-haired woman (I do dislike red hair, don't you,
Mamma?). She was very stout, but I don't understand why she was such a
"drawback." She had the jolliest face and laugh, even if her voice was
the voice of the Lusitania's siren.
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