her possessions to others than her own family. "Mrs. Jim Jones has
got a beautiful one she bought selling Calkin's soap," she said. "She
thinks it's prettier than this, and I must say it's real handsome.
It's solid oak and has a looking-glass on it. This hasn't got any
glass."

Horace laughed. He gazed at a corner-closet with diamond-paned doors.

"That is a perfectly jolly closet, too," he said; "and those are
perfect treasures of old dishes."

"I think they are rather pretty," said Henry. He was conscious of an
admiration for the old blue-and-white ware with its graceful shapes
and quaint decorations savoring of mystery and the Far East, but he
realized that his view was directly opposed to his wife's. This time
Sylvia spoke quite in earnest. As far as the Indian china was
concerned, she had her convictions. She was a cheap realist to the
bone.

She sniffed. "I suppose there's those that likes it," said she, "but
as for me, I can't see how anybody with eyes in their heads can look
twice at old, cloudy, blue stuff like that when they can have nice,
clear, white ware, with flowers on it that _are_ flowers, like this
Calkin's soap set. There ain't a thing on the china in that closet
that's natural. Whoever saw a prospect all in blue, the trees and
plants, and heathen houses, and the heathen, all blue? I like things
to be natural, myself."

Horace laughed, and extended his plate for another piece of pie.