the lounge: he went down to the ground floor:
no one in the big hall with its pillars of yellow marble and its gold
arches, its enormous, dark, bluey-red carpet. He stood before the great
glass doors. Some red flowers still were blooming in the tubs, on the
steps, handsome: and beautiful chrysanthemums in the wide portico.
Beyond, yellow leaves were already falling on the green grass and the
neat drive. Everywhere was silent and empty. He climbed the wide stairs,
sat in the long, upper lounge where the papers were. He wanted his hat
and coat, and did not know where to find them. The windows looked on to
a terraced garden, the hill rising steeply behind the house. He wanted
to go out.

So he opened more doors, and in a long drawing-room came upon five or
six manservants, all in the grey house-jackets, all clean-shaven, neat,
with neat black hair, all with dusters or brushes or feather brooms, and
all frolicking, chattering, playing like so many monkeys. They were all
of the same neat, smallish size. They were all laughing. They rolled
back a great rug as if it were some football game, one flew at the
curtains. And they merely looked at Aaron and went on chattering, and
laughing and dusting.

Surprised, and feeling that he trespassed, he stood at the window a
moment looking out. The noise went on behind him. So he turned, smiling,
and asked for his hat, pointing to his head. They knew at once what he
wanted. One of the fellows beckoned him away, down to the hall and to
the long cupboard place where hats and coats and sticks were hung. There
was his hat; he put it on, while the man chattered to him pleasantly and
unintelligibly, and opened for him the back door, into the garden.

CHAPTER XIII. WIE ES IHNEN GEFAELLT

The fresh morning air comes startling after a central heated house. So
Aaron found it. He felt himself dashing up the steps into the garden
like a bird dashing out of a trap where it has been caught: that warm
and luxurious house. Heaven bless us, we who want to save civilisation.
We had better make up our minds what of it we want to save. The kernel
may be all well and good. But there is precious little kernel, to a lot
of woolly stuffing and poisonous rind.

The gardens to Sir William's place were not imposing, and still rather
war-neglected. But the pools of water lay smooth in the bright air, the
flowers showed their colour beside the walks. Many birds dashed
about, rather bewildered, having c