of their house.

This was fortunate, as _mise-en-scene_ was a great gift of hers; no-one
had such a sense as Edith for arranging a room. She had struck the happy
mean between the eccentric and the conventional. Anything that seemed
unusual did not appear to be a pose, or a strained attempt at being
different from others, but seemed to have a reason of its own. For
example, she greatly disliked the usual gorgeous _endimanche_
drawing-room and dark conventional dining-room. The room in which she
received her guests was soft and subdued in colour and not dazzling with
that blaze of light that is so trying to strangers just arrived and not
knowing their way about a house (or certain of how they are looking).
The room seemed to receive them kindly; make them comfortable, and at
their ease, hoping they looked their best. The shaded lights, not dim
enough to be depressing, were kind to those past youth and gave
confidence to the shy. There was nothing ceremonious, nothing chilly,
about the drawing-room; it was essentially at once comfortable and
becoming, and the lights shone like shaded sunshine from the dull pink
corners of the room.

On the other hand, the dining-room helped conversation by its
stimulating gaiety and daintiness.

The feminine curves of the furniture, such as is usually kept for the
drawing-room, were all pure Louis-Quinze. It was deliriously pretty in
its pink and white and pale green.

In the drawing-room the hosts stood by one of those large, old-fashioned
oaken fireplaces so supremely helpful to conversation and
_tete-a-tetes_. In Edith's house there was never any general