But the Judge, at whose right
hand I sat, diverted me so successfully by means of his own most
interesting personality and delightful powers of conversation, that in
time I forgot both forks and butler, and was only conscious of the
length of the dinner by the sense, toward its close, of having had more
to eat than I wanted.
[Illustration: "Camellia herself was as exquisitely arrayed as ever"]
"They have this sort of thing every night of their unfortunate lives,
to a greater or less degree," murmured the Skeptic in my ear, as the men
came into the impressively decorated room where Camellia and Hepatica
and I were talking over common memories. "The gladdest man to get into
his summer camp in Maine is the Judge, and the life of absolute abandon
to freedom he lives there ought to teach his wife a thing or two--if she
were wise enough to heed it. Why two people--but I've just eaten their
salt," he acknowledged in reply to what I suppose must have been my
accusing look, and forbore to say more.
"I think I'll give a little dinner for you to-morrow night," said
Camellia reflectively, as we sat about.
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