The guests were shown to their rooms by the hostess, and Millicent gave an exclamation of delight on entering the apartment allotted to her. It was indeed a unique room. The walls were panelled in ebony to a third of their height, a bright light pattern in flowers running to the ceiling, and relieving what might otherwise have been sombre. The glossy black wood was carved into a wide, high fireplace, where two brass andirons, curiously wrought with twisted dragons, supported a fire whose bright blaze was most welcome to Millicent. She found the season very cold compared to the still, hot Italian summers. Below the mantel the fire shone out in welcome, but above the ebony shelf, set in the wall, was a picture which seemed fuller of light and color than the leaping flames. A Venetian scene with a terrace whereon sat men and maidens in the warm glow of the sunset, looking out over a stretch of many-toned water, in which were mirrored sky and clouds, trees, draperies, and graceful human figures. A black gondola, partly shown in the foreground, might have held the painter while he sketched the brilliant scene. "It is my Venice!" cried Millicent, "it is my home!" Her eyes were full of tears. She caught Barbara by the arm and rapidly described to her the point from which the picture had been painted. "Mr. Graham will be very much pleased that you recognized the spot." "Is it _his_ picture? Yes, I ought to have known it." "Why, are you clairvoyant?" "Yes, Barbara, sometimes." Millicent seemed somewhat disconcerted at what she had said; and, without noticing anything more in the pretty room, ascended the dainty little ebon staircase with its fanciful rail, and, pushing back a panel which slid into the wall, entered her bedroom. Later, when both of the girls had exchanged their travelling dresses, Barbara knocked at Millicent’s boudoir.