many woods, there are stuffs of many weaves, there are candles and
chandeliers and reading-lamps, but there is harmony of purpose and
therefore harmony of effect. The room was made for conversation, for
hospitality.

A narrow landing connects the dining-room and the drawing-room. The
color of the dining-room has grown of itself, from the superb Chinese
rug on the floor and the rare old Mennoyer drawings inset in the walls.
The woodwork and walls have been painted a soft dove-like gray. The
walls are broken into panels by a narrow gray molding, and the Mennoyers
are set in five of these panels. In one narrow panel a beautiful wall
clock has been placed. Above the mantel there is a huge mirror with a
panel in black and white relief above it. On the opposite wall there is
another mirror, with a console table of carved wood painted gray beneath
it. There is also a console table under one of the Mennoyers.

The two windows in this room are obviously windows by day, but at night
two sliding doors of mirrors are drawn, just as a curtain would be
drawn, to fill the window spaces. This is a little bit tricky, I admit,
but it is a very good trick. The dining-table is of carved wood painted
gray and covered with yellow damask, which in turn is covered with a
sheet of plate glass. The chairs are covered with a blue and gold
striped velvet. The rug has a gold ground with medallions and border of
blue, ivory and rose. Near the door that leads to the service rooms
there is a huge screen made of one piece of wondrous tapestry. No other
furniture is needed in the room.

The third floor is given over to my sitting-room, bedroom,
dressing-room, and so forth, and the fourth floor to Miss Marbury's
apartments. These rooms will be discussed in other chapters.