Pearlescence

Ursula sent Dinah to collect the crockery. Before she stepped foot into her father's study, Dinah performed a little ritual out in the hall. The performance consisted of a counterclockwise pirouette, three clicks of her left heel on the bare floorboards, and the recitation of the words, "I beg your pardon for the intrusion, and kindly ask your permission to enter." Dinah swiftly recovered plates and goblets strewn about the room in haphazard fashion. Her father, Mr. Archibald Crosswicke, never dined with his family, not even at Christmas. Mr. Crosswicke was plagued with poor digestion, and insisted on total silence at mealtime. Dinah inhaled the study's dense, sweet air as it crackled and hissed. Intricate floral patterns in the carpet crawled up her legs. The potted palms slapped her about the head. Colors intensified until the room was bathed in a dizzying pearlescence. The effect was rather pretty, even though it meant Mr. Crosswicke was ill-tempered. Dinah wondered how her father's work was coming along. Perhaps one of his experiments yielded unsatisfactory results. Dinah knew better than to linger in a place where her presence was grudgingly suffered.