“You would like to go straight up to your rooms, ma’am, would you not?” asked the maid, smiling. “There is a fire in the drawing-room, but it’s only just been lit, and it’s rather cold in there.” Mrs. Abercarne answered that they should like to go to their rooms; and she spoke very graciously, being mollified by the civility of their reception. For the butler had even delivered his master’s apologies for not receiving them in person, pleading a business appointment. The sharp eyes of Chris, however, detected that a door on the left, just inside the inner hall, was ajar, and that a hand, wearing a signet ring, which she recognised as Mr. Bradfield’s, was visible between the door-post and the door. This fact depressed her. Surely, if Mr. Bradfield had overlooked her mother’s indiscretion, he would, instead of spying upon their entrance, have come out and welcomed them himself. She felt sure that before the evening was over there would be a scene which would result in their leaving the place. And this thought, which had caused her a little distress before, caused her a great deal more now. For Chris perceived, as soon as she stepped inside the house, that she was in a sort of fairy palace, the like of which she had never seen before. Both halls were hung with rich tapestries, whether old or new she did not know, but the effect of which was of luxury, beauty, and romance, which fired her young imagination while it charmed her eyes. From the ceiling hung lamps of various patterns, from the many-coloured Chinese lantern, with its pictures and hanging strings of beads, to the graceful modern Italian lamp of shining silver, with its flying cupids and richly-ornamented chains. Over a beautiful carved marble fireplace hung a priceless picture, a genuine Murillo, the dark colours of which stood out in sombre relief against its massive gilt frame. On each side beautiful and interesting objects claimed the attention of the new-comers. Chris, younger and more impressionable than her mother, lingered behind, and cast admiring looks at Florentine cabinets, rare old china vases, and trophies of ancient armour, which were among the beautiful and curious things with which the inner hall was stored. Turning to the left they came to the staircase, the balustrade of which was so elaborately carved as to be magnificent to the eye, and particularly uncomfortable to the hand. “That’s the study,” whispered the housemaid, as she led them past a door on the left, up the first short flight of stairs. And from the respectful glance and the lowered tone Chris guessed that the master of the house passed most of his time in that apartment, and also that he was held in some awe by his servants.