mother, I thought, more than her father in face, and was strikingly handsome. Her manner was quiet, and she was, I observed, inclined rather to ask questions or listen than to offer opinions of her own. She worked at a piece of embroidery as she sat with us.
Then came one or two friends, including Emery Walker, the well-known engraver, an intimate friend and secretary of the Hammersmith Branch of the League, Philip Webb, the architect, and Tarleton, a leading member of the branch, and we went into the dining-room for supper.
The dining-room—(the ceiling two floors high) lit up with large candles on brass or copper candlesticks (Morris used candles only in the house—he detested gaslight)—was magnificently grand in its glow of colour derived from the Morris Acanthus wall-paper, and a great gorgeous Persian carpet hung up like a canopy on one side of the room. Opposite, over the fireplace, was Rossetti's noble portrait of Mrs. Morris, and on one side of the large window crayon drawings by Rossetti of Jenny and May Morris. There were one or two other Rossetti crayon drawings on the wall. These, I think, were the only pictures in the room, and indeed there were few pictures on the walls, so far as I observed, anywhere in the house, other than the Durer and a few other engravings and sketches in the entrance and library, for Morris did not 'believe in' making houses look like art galleries. The decorations of a room should be part of their needful architectural furnishings only.
So we seated ourselves on either side of the huge grey oaken dining-table, with Morris at the head, who saw to it that we partook liberally of the feast, while he enticed us into his happy mood with amusing chat and stories, addressing one or other of us in turn, so as to share the conversation round. Mrs. Morris rarely spoke, but Morris constantly referred his remarks to her with gentle courtesy and affection.
