ma'am," he
replied. Then he blushed furiously, but the woman seemed to notice
neither the provincial term nor his confusion. He found himself somehow,
he did not know how, divested of his overcoat, and the vision had
disappeared, having left some words about dinner ringing in his ears,
and he was sitting before a hearth-fire in a large leather easy-chair.
Then he looked about the room in much the same dazed fashion in which he
had contemplated the woman. He had never seen a room like it. He was
used to conventionality, albeit richness, and a degree even of luxury.
Here were absolute unconventionality, richness, and luxury of a kind
utterly strange to him. The room was very large and long, extending
nearly the whole length of the house. There were many windows with
Eastern rugs instead of curtains. There were Eastern things hung on the
walls which gave out dull gleams of gold and silver and topaz and
turquoise. There were a great many books on low shelves. There were
bronzes, jars, and squat idols. There were a few pieces of Chinese ivory
work. There were many skins of lions, bears, and tigers on the floor,
besides a great Persian rug which gleamed like a blurred jewel. Besides
the firelight there was only one great bronze lamp to illuminate the
room. This lamp had a red shade, which cast a soft, fiery glow over
everything. There were not many pictures. The rich Eastern stuffs, and
even a skin or two of tawny hue, covered most of the wall-spaces above
the book-cases, giving backgrounds of color to bronzes and ivory
carvings, but there was one picture at the farther end of the room which
attracted James's notice. All that he could distinguish from where he
sat was a splash of splendid red.

He gazed, and his curiosity grew. Finally he rose, traversed the room,
and came close to the picture. It was a portrait of the woman who had
met him at the door. The red was the red of a splendid robe of velvet.
The portrait was evidently the work of no mean artist. The texture of
the velvet was something wonderful, so were the flesh tones; but James
missed something in the face. The portrait had been painted, he knew
instinctively, before some great change had come into the woman's heart,
which had given her another aspect of beauty.

James turned away. Then he noticed something else which seemed rather
odd about the room. All the windows were furnished with heavy wooden
shutters, and, early as it was, hardly dark, all were closed,