The
dressing-room opened out of this and was furnished in the same style, with
a dressing-table that was a marvel of art and splendour, the looking-glass
in a frame of oxydised silver, between two monster jewel-cases of ebony and
malachite with oxydised silver mouldings. One entire side of this room was
occupied by an inlaid maple wardrobe, with seven doors, and Clarissa's
monogram on all of them--a receptacle that might have contained the
multifarious costumes of a Princess Metternich.
It would have been difficult for Clarissa not to be pleased with such
tribute, ungracious not to have expressed her pleasure; so when Daniel
Granger came presently to ask how she liked the rooms, she was not slow to
give utterance to her admiration.
"You give me so much more than I deserve, Mr. Granger," she said, after
having admired everything; "I feel almost humiliated by your generosity."
"Clarissa," exclaimed her husband, putting his two hands upon her
shoulders, and looking gravely down at her, "when will you remember that
I have a Christian name? When am I to be something more to you than Mr.
Granger?"
"You are all that is good to me, much too good," she faltered. "I will call
you Daniel, if you like. It is only a habit."
"It has such a cold sound, Clary. I know Daniel isn't a pretty name; but
the elder sons of Grangers have been Daniels for the last two centuries. We
were stanch Puritans, you know, in the days of old Oliver, and scriptural
names became a fashion with us.
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