When he
was almost at the Caravanserai he wanted to go back and change
the orchids for simpler flowers, roses or carnations, but he got
himself not to.
The linen and glassware and silver of the Caravanserai were
almost as coarse as those of a temperance hotel, for all the
raftered ceiling and the etchings in the dining-room. Hunting up
the stewardess of the inn, a bustling young woman who was
reading Keats energetically at an office-like desk, Mr. Wrenn
begged: "I wonder could I get some special cups and plates and
stuff for high tea tonight. I got a kind of party--"
"How many?" The stewardess issued the words as though he had put
a penny in the slot.
"Just two. Kind of a birthday party." Mendacious Mr. Wrenn!
"Certainly. Of course there's a small extra charge. I have a
Royal Satsuma tea-service--practically Royal Satsuma, at
least--and some special Limoges."
"I think Royal Sats'ma would be nice. And some silverware?"
"Surely."
"And could we get some special stuff to eat?"
"What would you like?"
"Why--"
Mendacious Mr.
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