She did not resemble the Creator's technique.
Dresden teacups tinkled, ice clattered in tall glasses, the two fountains splashed away bravely, prettily modulated voices made agreeable harmony on the terrace, blending with the murmur of leaves overhead as the wind stirred them to gossip.

Over all spread a calm evening sky.
"Tea, dear ?" asked Geraldine, glancing up at Mrs.Dysart.Rosalie shook her head with a smile.
Lang, the second man, was flitting about, busy with a decanter of Scotch.

A moment later Rosalie signified her preference for it with a slight nod.

Geraldine, who sat watching indifferently the filling of Mrs.Dysart's glass, suddenly leaned back and turned her head sharply, as though the aroma from glass and decanter were distasteful to her.

In a few minutes she rose, walked over to the parapet, and stood leaning against the coping, apparently absorbed in the landscape.
The sun hung low over the flat little tree-clad mountains, which the lake, now inlaid with pink and gold, reflected.