The Salt Of The Earth by Fred M. White

The dinner, an elaborate meal served by half a score of servants, dragged its slow length along. Priceless pictures hung on the walls of the vast dining-hall, each standing out in its frame against the carved oak, illuminated with its bulb of electric light beneath. Here were examples of Rembrandts and Velasquez, Reynolds and Romney, and the rest, which went far to represent the pictorial treasures belonging to the house of Callader. Otherwise the hall was in darkness, excepting that the table was one soft radiance of green light gleaming from between banks of flowers. The American guests were properly impressed. Neither flamboyant nor self-assertive, they had fallen under the glamor of their mediaeval surroundings. For the most part the men were typically American, tall and lean and clean of limb, restless of eye and quick of hand. The women were beautifully dressed, and quite at home.

The conversation was less sparkling and less personal than usual, perhaps because it was felt that most of it would be over the heads of the visitors. Burton sat next to the Duchess, with whom he held friendly intercourse. At the other end Felix Marner expatiated on art in his most academic manner. The subject of his talk was the Velasquez which hung at the end of the dining-hall over the carved fireplace. Dinner was ended before the discourse, and after the ladies had retired, Marner walked down the room and stood in front of the fireplace with the Americans around him.