Produced by Suzanne Shell, Beginners Projects, Mary Meehan and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
The Blotting Book
By E. F. BENSON
1908
Mrs. Assheton's house in Sussex Square, Brighton, was appointed with thatfinish of smooth stateliness which robs stateliness of its formality, andconceals the amount of trouble and personal attention which has,originally in any case, been spent on the production of the smoothness.Everything moved with the regularity of the solar system, and, superiorto that wild rush of heavy bodies through infinite ether, there was neverthe slightest fear of comets streaking their unconjectured way across thesky, or meteorites falling on unsuspicious picnicers. In Mrs. Assheton'shouse, supreme over climatic conditions, nobody ever felt that roomswere either too hot or too cold, a pleasantly fresh yet comfortably warmatmosphere pervaded the place, meals were always punctual and heradmirable Scotch cook never served up a dish which, whether plain orornate, was not, in its way, perfectly prepared. A couple of deft andnoiseless parlour-maids attended to and anticipated the wants of herguests, from the moment they entered her hospitable doors till when, ontheir leaving them, their coats were held for them in the most convenientpossible manner for the easy insertion of the human arm, and the tails oftheir dinner-coats cunningly and unerringly tweaked from behind. In everyway in fact the house was an example of perfect comfort; the softestcarpets overlaid the floors, or, where the polished wood was left bare,the parquetry shone with a moonlike radiance; the newest and mostentertaining books (ready cut) stood on the well-ordered shelves in thesitting-room to beguile the leisure of the studiously minded; thebilliard table was always speckless of dust, no tip was ever missing fromany cue, and the cigarette boxes and match-stands were always keptreplenished. In the dining-room the silver was resplendent, until themoment when before dessert the cloth was withdrawn, and showed a rosewoodtable that might have served for a mirror to Narcissus.
Mrs. Assheton, until her only surviving son Morris had come to live withher some three months ago on the completion of his four years atCambridge, had been alone, but even when she was alone this ceremony ofdrawing the cloth and putting on the dessert and wine had never beenomitted, though since she never took either, it might seem to be awasted piece of routine on the part of the two noiseless parlourmaids.But she did not in the least consider it so, for just as she alwaysdressed for dinner herself with the same care and finish, whether she wasgoing to dine alone or whether, as tonight, a guest or two was diningwith her, as an offering, so to speak, on the altar of her ownself-respect, so also she required self-respect and the formality thatindicated it on the part of those who ministered at her table, andenjoyed such excellent wages. This pretty old-fashioned custom had alwaysbeen the rule in her own home, and her husband had always had itpractised during his life. And since then—his death had occurred sometwenty years ago—nothing that she knew of had happened to make it lessproper or desirable. Kind of heart and warm of soul though she was, shesaw no reason for letting these excellent qualities cover any slacknessor breach of observance in the social form of life to which she had beenaccustomed. There was no cause, because one was kind and wise, to eatwith badly cleaned silver, unless the parlour-maid whose offi