The glow of the coals and the smoky flare of the candle lighted the room uncertainly, scattering and not dispelling the shadows.

There was a primly festive air in the room.

The flag-bottomed chairs stood by twos, finely canted towards each other, against the wall; the one great hair-cloth rocker stood ostentatiously in advance of them, facing the hearth fire; the long level of the hair-cloth sofa gleamed out under stiff sweeps of the white fringed curtains at the window behind it.

The books on the glossy card-table were set canting towards each other like the chairs, and with their gilt edges towards the light.

And Sylvia had set also on the table a burnished pitcher of a rosy copper-color full of apple blossoms.
She looked at it when she had set the candle on the shelf.