"Henri," she said, "you had better be here at three. The steamer sails
at four, and an hour will not give me any too much time. Have William
come for Celeste and the steamer things at two. The Panhard will be
best, as there is plenty of room in the tonneau." Then she ran lightly
up the steps and into the house.
The first impression of a visitor upon entering the hall might have been
of emptiness. In contrast to the over-elaborateness characteristic of
all too many American homes and hotels, obtruding their highly colored,
gold-laden ornament, the Randolph house rather inclined toward an
austerity of decoration. But after the first general impression, more
careful observation revealed the extreme luxury of appointments and
details. The one flaw--if one might call it such--was that every article
in the entire house was spotlessly, perfectly brand-new. The Persian
rugs, pinkish red in coloring and made expressly to tone in with the
gray white marble of the hall, were direct from the looms. The banister,
of beautiful simplicity, was as newly wrought as the stainless velvet
with which the hand-rail was covered. From the hall opened faultlessly
executed rooms, each correctly adhering to the "period" that had been
selected. The library was possibly more furnished than the rest of the
house; but even here the touch of a magician's wand might have produced
the bookcases of Circassian walnut ready filled with evenly matched,
leather bound, finely tooled volumes.
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