s orders to show you your own sitting-room, sir,"
said the man, "and to inquire if you approve of the situation and the
light."

I must have been hard to please, indeed, if I had not approved of the
room, and of everything about it. The bow-window looked out on the
same lovely view which I had admired, in the morning, from my bedroom.
The furniture was the perfection of luxury and beauty; the table in the
centre was bright with gaily bound books, elegant conveniences for
writing, and beautiful flowers; the second table, near the window, was
covered with all the necessary materials for mounting water-colour
drawings, and had a little easel attached to it, which I could expand
or fold up at will; the walls were hung with gaily tinted chintz; and
the floor was spread with Indian matting in maize-colour and red. It
was the prettiest and most luxurious little sitting-room I had ever
seen; and I admired it with the warmest enthusiasm.

The solemn servant was far too highly trained to betray the slightest
satisfaction. He bowed with icy deference when my terms of eulogy were
all exhausted, and silently opened the door for me to go out into the
passage again.

We turned a corner, and entered a long second passage, ascended a short
flight of stairs at the end, crossed a small circular upper hall, and
stopped in front of a door covered with dark baize. The servant opened
this door, and led me on a few yards to a second; opened that also, and
disclosed two curtains of pale sea-green silk hanging before us; raised
one of them noiselessly; softly uttered the words, "Mr. Hartright," and
left me.

I found myself in a large, lofty room, with a magnificent carved
ceiling, and with a carpet over the floor, so thick and soft that it
felt like piles of velvet under my feet. One side of the room was
occupied by a long book-case of some rare inlaid wood that was quite
new to me. It was not more than six feet high, and the top was adorned
with statuettes in marble, ranged at regular distances one from the
other. On the opposite side stood two antique cabinets; and between
them, and above them, hung a picture of the Virgin and Child, protected
by glass, and bearing Raphael's name on the gilt tablet at the bottom
of the frame. On my right hand and on my left, as I stood inside the
door, were chiffoniers and little stands in buhl and marquetterie,
loaded with figures in Dresden china, with rare vases, ivory ornaments,
and toys and c