ABSTRACT
THERE was a wonderful chandelier in the hotel dining-room. Fine bronze it was made of, with mermaids and Tritons and dolphins flourishing their tails up towards the dingy ceiling-paper. James, the hotel waiter, knew the family history of the chandelier, as he knew that of most people and things in the county. I commented upon it to a young gentleman with a pointed beard, who sat next to me at dinner, and said that it looked to me like Renaissance. The young gentleman suggested, alternatively, that it looked more like bronze. I did not dispute the point, but I think he found the subject precarious, as he turned to the young lady on his left, and I heard him embark upon a new theme.
