"No, my darling, I have not forgotten it. I have thought of nothing
else, but I wanted you to mention it."
"The flat silver, George."
"The flat silver, my darling. Twelve dozen, solid silver and teaset to
match, bought without consulting us, by your two rich bachelor uncles in
collusion. We wanted Queen Anne or Louis Seize, simple, dignified,
something to live with and grow fond of, and what did we get?"
"Oh, dear, they might have asked me!"
"But they don't, they never do, that is the theory of wedding presents,
my dear. We got Pond Lily pattern, repousse until it scratches your
fingers. Pond Lily pattern, my dear, which I loathe, detest, and
abominate!"
"I too, George."
"And that, my dear, we shall never get rid of; we not only must adopt
and assume the responsibility, but must pass it down to our children and
our children's children."
"Oh, George, it is terrible--terrible! What are we going to do?"
"My darling Clara, we are going to put a piece of bric-a-brac a day on
the newel post, buy a litter of puppies to chew up the rugs, select a
butter-fingered, china-breaking waitress, pay storage on the silver and
try occasionally to set fire to the furniture.
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