It seems an impossible hour to people who
always dine at night. But on the Sabbath we Nantucketers eat our
principal meal when we come home from church.
Nancy and Anthony protested as usual. "Of course you can't expect us to
dress."
Nancy sat down at the table with her hat on, and minus the velvet coat.
She was a bit disheveled and warm from her walk. She had brought in a
great bunch of blue vetch and pale mustard, and we had put it in the
center of the table in a bowl of gray pottery. My dining-room is in gray
and white and old mahogany, and Nancy had had an eye to its coloring
when she picked the flowers. They would not have fitted in with the
decorative scheme of my library, which is keyed up, or down, to an
antique vase of turquoise glaze, or to the drawing-room, which is in
English Chippendale with mulberry brocade.
We had an excellent dinner, served by my little Portuguese maid. Nancy
praised the lobster bisque and Anthony asked for a second helping of
roast duck. They had their cigarettes with their coffee.
Long before we came to the coffee, however, Anthony had asked in his
pleasant way of the morning service.
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