"Very hard lines!" said _The Bittern_ man. "I confess that this point of view had not occurred to me. I shall give prominence to it in my article. Art, like the car of some fanatical Juggernaut, crushing its votaries----" "Yes," I said. "Mother draped a flower-pot once, and sneaked Ariadne's photograph into a plush frame. You should have heard George! 'To think that any wife of his--' 'Cæsar's wife must be above suspicion!' And as for Ariadne, he had rather see her dead at his feet than folded in blue plush." "Capital!" said _The Bittern_ man. "All good grist for the interview! And now, will you show me the famous metal stairs of which I have heard so much? There are no penalties attached to that, I trust?" "Except that we are not allowed to go up them--Ariadne and me--without taking our boots off first, for fear of scratching the polish. We have to strip our feet in the housemaid's pantry, and carry them up in our hands. That's rather a bore, you will admit!" "And your father? Does he bow to his own decrees?" "Oh, no!" I said. "Papa is the exception that proves the rule." "Capital!" again remarked _The Bittern_ man. "I am getting to know all about the great Mr. Vero-Taylor in the fierce light that beats upon the domestic hearth! But, by the way," he said, with a little crooked look at me, "it is usual--shall I say something about Mrs. Vero-Taylor? People generally like an allusion--just a hint of feminine presence--say the mistress of the house flitting about, tending her ferns, or what not?" "You must put her in the kitchen, then," I said, "tending her servants. Would you like to see her?" "I should not like to disturb her," he said politely. "Will you describe her for me?" "Oh, mother's nice and thin--a good figure--I should hate to have one of those feather-beddy mothers, don't you know? But I don't really think you need describe her. I don't think she cares about being in the interview, thank you, but you may say that my sister Ariadne is ravishingly beautiful, if you like?" "And what about you, Miss----?" he asked, looking at me. "Tempe Vero-Taylor," I said. "But whatever you do, don't put me in! George would have a fit! He won't much like your mentioning Ariadne, but I don't see why she shouldn't have a show, if I can give her one." "Very well," he said. "Your ladyship shall be obeyed. Now I really think I have got enough, unless----" I saw his eyes straying up-stairs. "There's nothing much to see up those stairs, except George's bedroom, and I daren't take you in there. It is quite commonplace, too; not like the rest of the house, but very, _very_ comfortable." "Oho! Your father reminds me of the man who plays Othello, and doesn't trouble to black more than his face and arms," said _The Bittern_ man. "And _your_ rooms?" "Oh, our rooms are cupboards. Bowers, George calls them, and says we have more room to keep our clothes in than the lady of a mediæval castle would have. Now that's all, and----"