Thus at the bedside stood a real Chippendale table, with a real Delft vase upon it, filled with such roses as had survived the rain.

A drop of water had been spilt upon the table from the vase, and there was something almost fussy in the way that Langholm removed it with his handkerchief.
"Oh," said Severino, "she quite fell in love with the table you found for me, and Mrs.Woodgate wanted the vase.

They were wondering if Mrs.
Brunton would accept a price." "They don't belong to Mrs.Brunton," said Langholm, shortly.
"No?
Mrs.Woodgate said she had never noticed them in your room.

Where did you pick them up ?" Langholm looked at the things, lamps of remembrance alight beneath his lowered eyelids.

"The table came from a little shop on Bushey Heath, in Hertfordshire, you know.