“Go there,” he said to the coachman, handing him a slip of paper. The house, with not a soul inside of it, was brilliantly lighted. Galt in a fever of anticipation crossed the pavement with his most egregious, cock-like stride. The entrance was level with the street, screened with two tall iron gates on enormous hinges. Before inserting the key he looked around, expecting to see the family at his heels. What he saw instead threw him into a violent temper. I was still standing at the carriage door waiting to hand them out. Natalie stood on the curb with her head inside arguing with her mother. Mrs. Galt would have to know whom they were calling on. Natalie went to find out. “Nobody,” said Galt. “Nobody, tell her.” When Natalie returned with this answer Mrs. Galt construed it in the social sense. She was rigid with horror at the thought that Galt by one mad impulse might frustrate all her precious plans. For all she knew he was about to launch them upon a party of upstart nobodies in the very sight of Mrs. Valentine. Vera now joined with Natalie. They added force to persuasion and slowly brought her forth. We went straggling across the pavement toward Galt, who by this time was in a fine rage. As he unlocked the gates and pushed them open Mrs. Galt had a flash of understanding. “Oh!” she exclaimed in a bewildered, contrite tone. It was almost too late. There were two sets of doors after the gates. We stood in a vaulted hallway. There was a retiring room on either side. Further in, where the width of these two rooms was added to that of the hallway, a grand impression of the house began. We were then in a magnificently arched space, balanced on four monolith columns. At the right was a carpeted stone staircase. At the left was a great fireplace and in front of it a very large velvet-covered divan. Logs were burning lazily on the andirons. On a table at one side was a cut glass service and iced water. Beyond, straight ahead, was a view of the dining room. As we walked in that direction there was a sound of tinkling water. This issued from a fountain suddenly disclosed in an unsuspected space. A fire was burning in the dining room. The table was decorated. The sideboard was furnished. Galt, silently leading the way, brought us back to the grand staircase. God knows why,--women must weep in a new house. Possibly it makes them feel more at home. All the feminine eyes in that party, Vera’s alone excepted, were red as we mounted the stairs. As Galt’s satisfaction increased he began to talk. “This,” he said, “is where we live.”