Certainly their home had. It was old-fashioned in its garniture
and its gentility. It spoke of a day, not so many years before, when
high thinking had led to blinking where domestic decoration was
concerned, and people had bought ugly wooden and worsted things to live
with because only the things of the spirit seemed of real importance.
Still time, with its marvellous touch, has often the gift of making
furniture and upholstery, which were hideous when bought, look
interesting and cosey when they have become old-fashioned. In this way
Pauline Wilbur's parlor was a delightful relic of a day gone by. There
was scarcely a pretty thing in it, as Wilbur himself well knew, yet, as
a whole, it had an atmosphere--an atmosphere of simple unaffected
refinement. Their domestic belongings had come to them from their
parents, and they had never had the means to replenish them. When, in
due time, they had realized their artistic worthlessness, they had held
to them through affection, humorously conscious of the incongruity that
two such modern individuals as themselves should be living in a domestic
museum. Then, presto! friends had begun to congratulate them on the
uniqueness of their establishment, and to express affection for it.
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