he made his way up the road
to the ugly house at the corner that had stamped itself upon him as the
symbol of all Suburbia, as the stronghold of a type of life that Bohemia
mocked at and Belgravia waved aside as impossible.

If he had not yet entirely overcome his distaste, it was at least
mitigated by a splendid sense of condescension.

VI

A handsome Phyllis, in cap and apron, opened the door, and Wyndham
stepped into a broad corridor, carpeted in red, and hung with popular
engravings that he had seen in the windows of all the carvers and
gilders in London. Next, he was ushered under a crimson door-hanging
into a resplendent drawing-room, lighted by a dazzling crystal
chandelier, and sensuously warmed by a great red-hot fire. There was
nobody to receive him yet, and he was left to amuse himself with the
show-books on the tables--padded photograph albums full of old-fashioned
naive people posing against rococo backgrounds, collections of views of
the Valley of the Thames and of the Lake District, and richly bound
volumes of Tennyson and Sir Walter Scott.

The interest of these treasures was soon exhausted, and Wyndham, sinking
into a remarkably soft arm-chair, impatiently beat with his foot at a
cluster of roses on the brand-new "Aubusson" carpet. The room was almost
triangular, a large bow window commanding the vista of the main road,
and pairs of other windows, straight and tall, overlooking the streets
that branched on either hand. And all these windows were elaborately
draped in a would-be Renaissance style, with many loops and festoons,
and with big gilt cornices above. And between each pair of them stood a
gilded consol table surmounted by a mirror that reached to the ceiling.
Oval mirrors with lighted candles in sconces glittered from several
points of vantage, and crimson couches and the immense piano completed
the tale of splendours.

At length the door opened softly, and Mr. Robinson entered. Wyndham
rose, not displeased to observe that his host was likewise in evening
clothes; as he had been already regretting the self-assertion to which
he had yielded.

"Ah, you are in good time," said the old man, coming forward in his
quiet, gentle way, and shaking hands again. "I am sorry to say that my
wife and daughter are not down yet."

His tone was apologetic, and Wyndham smiled, readily understanding that
the announcement of a guest to arrive had scared the ladies to a more
elaborate toilette than