I went into the smaller dining room yesterday to retrieve a pair of brass candlesticks.
The room sees little use now. I keep the shutters open, and someone attends to the dust, but the long table remains mostly undisturbed.
Two places had been set at its far end.
A plate, a folded napkin, and a glass at each. I couldn’t remember when they had last been used.
I gathered one setting and carried it to the sideboard.
Then I stopped.
There was nothing particularly unusual about two places at a table. Someone had prepared them for a meal. Someone had expected company.
I looked at the single place that remained.
After a moment, I returned the second plate, unfolded the napkin, and set the glass beside it.
I had come for the candlesticks.
I took them and left the room as I found it.